Left Behind
by The Shay-Shay
Summary: Allen Walker isn't sure how he got on Yamatai. What he does know is that the Solarii are insane cultists, the strange storms plaguing the island aren't natural, and the dinosaurs roaming about should be long dead. Then there's the feral werewolf helping him, who seems to suffer from some rather "rusty" people skills that leave a lot to be desired.
1. Chapter One: Long & Lost

**Left Behind**

 **Chapter One:**  
 **Long & Lost**

 ** _Disclaimer_ : I do not own _D-Grayman_ , _Tomb Raider_ , _Jurassic Park/World_ or any other fandom that will appear in this crossover fanfiction in any way, shape, or form. I also do not own any forms or references of media that are peppered throughout the story either. I do, however, own my original characters and writings, unless otherwise stated.  
**

 ** _Warnings_ : Mentions of death, gore, blood, torture...violence in general. Hence the Mature setting, as well as a few other items that are briefly mentioned. **

**_Full Summary:_ Allen Walker isn't sure how he got on Yamatai. What he does know is that the Solarii are insane cultists, the strange storms plaguing the island aren't natural, and the dinosaurs roaming about should be long dead. Then there's the feral werewolf helping him, who seems to suffer from some rather "rusty" people skills that leave a lot to be desired. At least she hasn't tried to kill him like the rest of the island's inhabitants. That would be just a bit awkward.**

 ** _Notes_ : A crazy crossover story that may or may not appeal to you. Please feel free to leave creative notes, critique, or just general thoughts. I'm open to it all! **

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _Is it too late to come on home?  
Are all those bridges now old stone?  
Is it too late to come on home?  
Can the city forgive?  
I hear its sad song  
_ **-Florence + The Machine, "** _ **Long & Lost**_ **"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Lookie here, boys, seems like we got us a live one on our hands!"

The man had appeared out of the foliage with barely a rustle of his announcement. His clothing was weather worn and threadbare, a suggestion of a harsh life. He could see stains of questionable and queasy origins spattered here and there, dark like ink but not with the same texture, not at all. His hair was dark and greasy, his scratchy beard thick. The leer in his eyes and the crooked smirk weren't welcoming either. He had a gun. Allen recognized it simply because he had grown accustomed to their sight over the last several years.

He had his late mentor to thank for that.

He was alarmed when he began to pick out more bodies emerging into sight from the darkness of the forest, some up high on overhanging precipices; several were in trees, and the rest on the ground, flanking the first man. Some had rifles. Others, pistols. He even noticed, oddly enough, some were armed with bows and arrows.

All were aimed at him.

"If this is your welcoming committee, then I shudder to think about the reception of guests you fail to successfully entertain. This is rather poor in taste, if you ask me."

The first man, the leader of the ragtag bunch, scowled and spat out a curse at him. It took Allen a moment to realize he had spoken Russian, the dialect heavy as the syllables growled over one another. It took him another to realize what the man had said.

" _Fucking smart ass child. I've shot grown men for less insult._ "

He jerked the gun in his hand, pointing a vague direction for Allen to move. Allen didn't. Instead, he addressed the man in his apparent native tongue. " _Where are you taking me?_ "

The Russian was unimpressed at being addressed in his mother tongue, even if he did give pause.

" _Move!_ "

The weapon's hammer was cocked back for emphasis, a loud and unsettling click that cleaved the very air with its sound. Allen warily stared at the dark metal object, knowing full and well how dangerous guns were. He had his mentor to thank for those lessons as well. He startled when one of the men suddenly pitched forward with barely a grunt and hiss of air issuing from his mouth. He fell forward, his weapon—a rifle—clattering to the forest floor with a loud clatter, tangling in the undergrowth. An arrow protruded from the fallen man's backside.

The Russian barked at his men, stirring them into action and they scrambled into organized chaos. The Russian turned on him, the barrel of the gun reestablished on him. He hissed away, stalking forward to close the gap between him and Allen.

" _She's come for you, boy,_ " he growled, a dark light sparking in his eyes. " _I'll kill you before she gets a chance to even see your face._ "

Allen struck fast and hard. No doubt the Russian was taken aback by the sheer speed of the Exorcist. He fired his gun both in panic and resolution, but all went sailing harmlessly into the dark forest, nowhere near hitting the Exorcist. The gut punch had the taller man doubling over, wheezing heavily at the strike. Allen wasn't aiming to kill or maim the man—simply disarm him and relocate. The Russian's grip on his gun hadn't broken, but he was too busy catching his breath to notice. He never got the chance to, either.

Another arrow whizzed out from the dark and struck the Russian's neck, punching through from the back to the front, an arrowhead sprouting out of his throat. The gun fell from abruptly limp fingers, and then the Russian followed suite with a strangled gurgle. Allen stumbled back, in horror and shock. The light in the Russian's eyes went out and he wheezed his last breath, blood bubbling from the oozing wound as he collapsed on his face.

The forest fell silent and it was in that moment he realized all the men that had appeared from nowhere were dead.

All of them.

An unsettling silence had fallen over the forest, and the shadows around him seemed to grow darker, longer, reaching for him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and stood at attention while an icy shudder snaked its way down his spine.

He jumped, his left arm transforming in an instant. His fingers lengthened out into daggers, the dark blades gleaming in what little light the moon above provided. The familiar weight of a snowy white cowl and cloak settled around his shoulders, providing a comforting sense of security and protection as it did. For now, he kept the masquerade mask off his face, scanning the area.

He felt eyes on him, but how many and from where, he wasn't too sure. He just knew that whoever killed the men, they were still here. Allen didn't have long to wait. He whirled at the first sign of movement, cloak snapping, but he stopped short of himself in surprise at what he faced.

It was a slip of a young woman, not much smaller than he was. She was dressed sensibly enough to move fast and not allow herself to be caught up by snagged clothing. It was all form fitting without being too tight on her, but there was a bulk to her build and he saw why. The silhouette of knives strapped at her sides, a rifle on a sling over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows belted at her hip, and a bow held casually in one hand, a pistol in the other. She cleared the area with the pistol, watching for any unwanted movement before holstering it at her back when she deemed it safe.

The strangeness didn't stop there. Atop her head was a pair of doggish triangular ears, on a constant twitch and swivel routine, while a tail was at her backside, stiff and erect and puffed out. It swayed back and forth in agitated arcs, slowly settling. If she had been an actual dog, he probably would have kept his distance. When she stepped closer and into a clearer line of sight, he saw that her feet weren't covered in furs and boots like he had at first believed at first glance—her feet were _actual paws_. Each toe was tipped in sharp claws.

The woman ventured closer, her posture still tense but it had relaxed greatly in comparison to the few steps she had taken when she arrived. She was showing she wasn't an enemy by holstering her weapons, but she would still ready at the drop of a hat to jump into action if things went south. He could sense all of that just by the way she held herself.

When a shaft of silvery moonlight washed over her face, he caught a glimpse of a scar and her eyes shone like an animal's—but it was a blink-and-miss moment. He took an instinctive step back and she stopped. She slowly reached to sling the bow on a holster on her back, leaving her hands open and free. Her eyes never left him. He returned the same courtesy.

"These men would have killed you if I hadn't intervened. The Solarii aren't known for their kindness and mercy. Negotiating with them is impossible when they've been trained to kill without hesitation. Especially if it looks like you're going to fight back." She started in way of greeting. The woman tilted her head to the side. "Surprised they delayed so long in shooting you. Good thing they did. Gave me time to get here."

He was still tongue-tied at the suddenness of the events that had transcended within the span of a few sparse minutes.

She turned, motioning for him to follow.

He trailed after her with uncertainty in his steps. "Wait—wait! Where am I? Who are these Solarii? And what's your name?"

The woman craned her head to peer over her shoulder at him. Her gaze was steady and even, unfaltering as she studied him. They passed through the undergrowth for several minutes in silence before she answered him.

"You're on an island called Yamatai. It's in the Dragon's Triangle, west of Japan. The Solarii are…shipwreck survivors. They're a band of murderers that have laid claim to the island, killing or recruiting any men who wash up on shore. They burn any women they come across."

A sour taste coated the back of his throat and his stomach turned uneasily at that. He didn't remember how he'd gotten here, and he wondered if he was alone.

 _I think I am, but…no. Oh no, please. Please don't let the others be here._

"Have…have there been any others…?" He couldn't finish. The woman seemed to take that as a cue.

"Like you? No. You're the only one I've come across, dressed as you are."

There was little relief in her answer. It only meant he was the first, and that the others might very well be here.

The woman unclipped something from her belt and waggled the item. It was an oval-shaped device, black and ringed with perhaps a white or yellow stripe. A thin tube stuck out from its top.

"The Solarii get riled up when others are spotted on the island. No doubt they've already gotten on the horn and started bleating like the mindless sheep they are to others on their radios about you." She continued as they began climbing up a small incline. The trees were thinning, and there was a path up ahead, and it looked like there was an old bridge they could cross. "You're the only one right now. If there were others, I would have heard about them on this."

He didn't feel very reassured, even with that statement. A thought occurred to him.

"You never told me your name."

They came across the bridge. It might have once been painted a pleasing, imperial crimson red, but time had taken its toll on it. Still, it was intact and spanned over the length of a small pond. The night critters had begun their hushed chorus and he had barely noticed until then.

"It doesn't matter."

"But then, what do I call you? My name's Allen Walker."

When she walked, she was quiet, except for the faintest click of claws on wood. Even that was muted. She moved with the purpose to be as quiet as possible. He sought to do the same, in case they ran into any more of those Solarii men. He didn't fancy having another dozen guns pointed at his person, thank you very much.

"And I told you…it doesn't matter. I don't remember what I used to be called anyway."

"I…" He stared after her backside, lost for a moment at her aloof attitude. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"There's nothing to apologize for. I don't really care to remember. Call me what you want. It won't matter once I get you off this island."

He stopped halfway across the bridge, startled.

"There's a way off?"

She paused at the end of the bridge and turned a little to view him more properly. "Yes. There's a boat. I'll have to fix it, but I need to take care of a few things first."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No. Let's go. I have a safe place you can stay in for the time being while I take care of it all."

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can help with? Please."

"There's nothing you can do, except do as I say. And I want you out of harm's way." She eyed him a little more critically, her mouth pulling into a shrewd, thin line. "Trained fighter or not, I'm not risking a stray bullet hitting you in the head."

He startled, realizing he still had his Crown Clown activated. With barely a thought, he willed it away. The blades on his fingers flickered out of sight and he clenched his fingers and rolled his shoulder. The cowl and cloak faded from sight, like it had never existed. She gave a small nod and turned, motioning him to keep following.

"I can help," he pressed insistently.

"No, you can't." She said it in such a matter-of-fact tone, it grated on his nerves. He started after her, silence be damned if it meant catching up.

"And how do you know? You don't know me, or what I can or can't do. I can do quite a lot."

"I know you won't kill another human being, even if your own life was in danger. I have nothing for you to do if you can't even lift a hand to save yourself beyond disarming the human monstrosities that crawl all over this island." She glanced at him as he dropped back, his steps faltering until he stopped. "If you could do that, then you would have done so back there. Those men would have been dead before I met up with you. That's how I know you can't do what I need done to get you out of here. It's kill or be killed on this island. Not disarm and run away."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They moved across the island and it took most of the night to do so, if only because of the island's geography itself. He didn't get to see much other than old ruins, forest, and the tall imposing presence of the mountains that surrounded the island. He wondered just how many people had once inhabited this place. He could make out the ruins of Japanese homes and structures and grey slabs of concrete from an unknown time. It was hard to make out details and he wondered aloud if they could light a torch to better see by. The woman shot down the idea almost immediately.

"The human eye can detect the flame of a matchstick from a mile away. A torch would attract a lot more attention. I don't want us getting shot at."

She said nothing more on the matter, so neither did he. He quickly realized that once she shut up on a subject, the subject itself was closed from discussion for good. She was about as charming as Kanda and as tight-lipped on personal information as Lavi. The thought of any of them left him feeling sour and worried, but he didn't let it show. Not to this woman who wouldn't—or possibly couldn't—give him her name, if she was to be believed that she didn't remember it. He tried not to worry, but it ate away at him. More than once, when they stopped so she could gather their position, he had tried to summon a gate to the Ark, but to no avail.

The same mysterious and troubling force or power that had spirited him away and left him here had somehow cut off his ability to call for an easier way off this island. It was frustrating, to put it lightly. Infuriating, to put it another way. Whoever or whatever it was—he was content to lay blame on the Millennium Earl and the Noah until proven otherwise—that had left him here, they were going to pay dearly. If this was their idea of a strange joke, he found no humour in it.

Especially when he was paired with a woman who seemed to have no sense of humour in the first place.

The sun was coming up just as they had made their way down the mountains and into the foothills of a forest filled with spruce trees. The evergreens towered above them, silent and resolute sentinels that stood guard as they overlooked the island. She led him into their embrace, back into the shadows and away from the soft tendrils of light.

"Where are we now?"

"Still on Yamatai."

"I meant, where we are on the island."

"I know."

He stood corrected. She had a sense of humour.

Allen opened his mouth to speak, but clamped his mouth shut almost as quickly, his teeth clacking as they hit one another at the noise of a soft but audibly menacing growl. The woman stopped walking and so did he. He looked to her, to get a read on how she reacted. She knew the island better than he did, apparently, and that included its various threats. That could include the naturally inclined type.

She did nothing.

It didn't reassure him.

The growl came again. It was a deep noise that thrummed through the very air, vibrating down to his very core. It was the sound that originated from a gargantuan creature, yet he saw no animals anywhere. None that could issue such a sound, that is.

The woman moved forward as a third growl spat itself into the air from its unknown source. She walked with purpose in her step, deviating from the path she had set them on.

"Carmilla," she called to the open air. "Stop hiding."

On the fourth rumble, he finally saw what he failed to the first time. The air in front of the woman rippled. The lowest branches of the trees shifted and shivered. The trees themselves shook, as though a great weight was pressing up against them. The pine needles above were rattling. Scales took place of bark and pine and open air. A long spine crested up and over the tops of the lower branches, disappearing from sight into the higher foliage. Rhythmic breaths poured in and out of huge lungs, housed within the giant of a creature that was revealing itself.

The forest background began to peel and fade away from brilliant jades and emeralds to a dusty grey, and the starkly dark umbers did the same, lightening until all there was a crisp stolid white. The creature shook away the impressive camouflage of its very own scales and into what Allen was assuming its natural colouration. The very earth trembled with every step as it ducked around a copse of trees, revealing an angled, almost avian skull with red eyes and an alarming amount of teeth lining its jaws. Spiny protrusions stuck out of the back of its head and along its neck, further emphasizing the ' _Something Big and Toothy to Run Away From Really Fast_ ' image.

The giant of a monster looked like it could scoop the woman up in its huge jaws, swallow her whole, and ask for seconds, thirds, fourths, and so much more.

"What…what is that thing?" His voice came out tight and strained, he almost didn't recognize it.

"Thing? How rude." The woman snorted. The creature lowered itself until it was on all fours, pressing its head closer toward the woman with a low rumbling hum from deep in its chest. Allen realized it almost sounded like it was… _purring_. The woman was rubbing the giant skull with her hands, the sounds of soft flesh rubbing along hard scales poignant as it hung in the air.

"Her name is Carmilla. She's a dinosaur. Say hello, Carmilla."

Carmilla roared her hello, showing off her dagger-long conical fangs and the gaping maw that could most definitely swallow the woman _and_ Allen whole at the same time. Allen remained frozen to the spot he stood. He was acutely aware of the red gaze that watched his every move with equal and unnerving scrutiny.

"You're kidding me. A dinosaur? It…I mean, she's a dinosaur? But…that's _impossible_. They're extinct."

He had a difficult time wrapping his mind around the idea of an extinct animal living and breathing right in front of him. But then again, the existence of Akuma and Innocence and the Secret War quite possibly would be just as mind-boggling to her if he revealed it all.

"Tell that the scientists who brought her to life," the woman stated clearly. Carmilla purred, red eyes closing as she nudged the woman with her gigantic skull. Hot breath poured out from her gaping jaws, and sharp gusts of air shot from her nostrils. One red eye peeped open when the woman knocked her knuckles gently on the crest of the dinosaur's nose. She flicked her hands in the air, her fingers dancing with little waves and gestures. "Hello, old friend. Cover our backs, would ya?"

Carmilla rumbled and lifted away, up and up and up until she was towering above them both. Her front limbs curled close to her chest, scimitar talons curving into the fold as she turned away. The ground thundered beneath her every step as she moved aside and let them pass.

"She's…I mean, this is incredible. How is she…?"

"Alive? Existing?" The woman paused to glance over her shoulder. "Not attacking and tearing us limb from limb and eating us alive?"

"Er…well…"

"I speak dinosaur. That tends to help."

"You…"

He didn't know what to say to that. Neither was he entirely sure if she was being serious or if she had somehow dug out that sense of dusty old humour again and brought it to the light for a rare excursion out.

"I think I should clarify. I understand her body language. I know the context of her growls and squeaks and roars. And because she has a higher-than-average intelligence for an animal her size, she can understand and comprehend sign language and spoken language, although she's mostly limited to English. I'm trying to broaden her understanding beyond English, though, like Japanese, Russian, Spanish. It's slow going, but she can recognize enough of each to determine friendly from threatening words."

"That's amazing. Are there any more like her?"

He scanned the area for good measure, and was surprised when Carmilla had disappeared from sight. How could something so large simply vanish so easily?

"No. Although there are other large predators, like Báthory, the old lady tyrannosaurus. She's not as big or as smart, but she can be meaner. She's somewhere around here, I assume. Or she might be terrorizing the Solarii somewhere else."

Their excursion through the forest continued on for another hour. A soft fog had rolled in, casting everything in a mixture of grey shadows and feeble sunlight. The woman paused at the crest of a hill where there was a break in the forest and they could gaze down on the valley below. Allen felt a lump form in his throat when he swept his gaze across the way.

"What…what is that?"

"A shantytown. And up there's the palace," she motioned upwards and just as she said, there was a grand Japanese palace just sitting at the top of the mountain, connected between peaks by long and impressively huge bridges. "That is where the Solarii stronghold is."

"Is it—are we safe, being this close to them?"

"On this island? Never. At the moment? For your comfort, I'll say yes."

"That's not entirely comforting."

"Then don't ask."

He pulled a face as she turned away from him, motioning for them to continue moving. He shot a nervous look over his shoulder back toward the shantytown, but startled when Carmilla took the valley's place, her sides heaving with each breath she took. Otherwise, she remained still and unflinching, softly growling as she stared with her unnerving red eyes. Her nostrils flared as she gushed out an especially loud breath at him. Allen hurriedly turned on his heel to trot after the woman.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"This…this place. It's…"

"A mess. Feel free to be honest. Don't sugarcoat it."

The woman had led him through the forest and through the mountain paths above until they had come upon a thin, hidden winding trail. It led up and up until they came upon a solid wall of metal instead of stone imbedded into the mountain, tucked away out of sight and out of mind. The metal wall itself looked as though it had been cobbled together and welded from different sheets to achieve its solid standing. After unlocking a metal door, she led him inside and the sight within made him stop in his tracks, even more so than the sight of the metal wall.

Inside it was a cave. Of course, it was a cave, what else had he expected inside a mountain? But it wasn't dank and dark and depressing. There were signs of life and living within. The main chamber was huge, with the ceiling vaulting upwards high above them. A second deck cobbled together of wood hung over one of the walls. Beneath the wooden deck, there was a natural shelf of rock that held a single weapons rack, and every inch of space held what looked like rifles. He's only ever seen a few in his lifetime, but he knew for certain they were more advanced than the ones he could recall. Above the rifles hung a deer skull, and from its impressive tines dangled all sorts of baubles, beads, shells, and trinkets on leather cords.

There were boxes and crates and storage footlockers off to his left, locked up tight to contain their hidden treasures from sight. To his right, a cozy enough set of couches and squishy armchairs hung around a table. In the center near the shelf and weapons rack, a campfire with a ring of old stumps and a pile of freshly chopped firewood sat. It was currently out, but there were plenty of candles alit in the chamber. Allen could make out hanging curtains along the walls, and it took him several moments to realize they were leading to other chambers, effectively creating a series of caves instead of just one central home base.

It was, all in all, surprisingly cozy despite his earlier apprehension in coming inside.

He jumped at the sound of a cough-bark bursting through the relative silence, echoing relentlessly in the enclosed space. It was a sound he's never quite heard before, but the woman didn't appear concerned. Of course she wouldn't, this was her living space. Her home.

After the initial shock and awe of the sight, the details began to sink in. The battered and derelict state of the furniture, the weathered clothing she wore, the sheer amount of weapons she actually had—he spotted at least two more bows, several quivers filled with arrows, a few pistols on various surfaces, and quite a lot of knives of varying sizes, length, design. He even saw a few swords similar to Kanda's—long and short in length, both. _Katanas_ , he remembered they were called.

She was prepared to wage war, it almost seemed. A one-woman army, with no help, if the lack of signs from other people was any indication. She really was alone.

It suddenly felt very sad.

The cough-bark came again and this time, he saw what the source was.

Something large lurched out of one of the curtained off tunnels and into the main chamber towards them, homing in on the woman. She turned on a dime toward it, and the creature came to a very sharp stop, giving Allen a good look at it now.

It was a tall, bipedal creature, all sleek feathers, scaly feet, tiny avian eyes, and of course it was riddled with teeth and nasty looking claws. That included the ones on its feet. One pair of claws was huge and curving, its toe uplifted off the ground. He would hate to be on the receiving end of those things. Whenever they flicked against the stone flooring, it clinked and echoed slightly. One of its front limbs, he noticed, was in a makeshift sling, bandaged up with a splint. The creature purred, rubbing its face against the woman, and she returned the gesture.

"Hello, Clover. How goes it?"

The animal in question timbered softly in response, which slowly rumbled out to a content purr. The woman checked on the bandage and the splint, ignoring the snot-snarling the creature gave her when she obviously did something it didn't like.

"Don't sass me, Clover. You're not going back out there. Not until this arm of yours is fully healed. It's still fractured."

The creature—Clover—spat out another snarl, baring sharp teeth and gushing hot, rancid breath over the woman's face. The woman in question was unimpressed. She clucked her tongue and flicked Clover on the nose. The feathers that covered Clover—all shades of dusty grey and dappled light greens—puffed up. A crest rose up high and he was reminded of some parrots he'd seen during his travels and training. A cockatoo, he believed it had been called. It would flash its crest, as though it reflected its mood—surprise, happiness, even anger.

He was willing to bet Clover was surprised more than anything, because she stopped her sounds altogether for half a heartbeat.

"Git. Go on, git. I said rest, and rest is what you're gonna have. Now git."

Clover flashed her all-too-sharp teeth in the woman's face, beady avian eyes retracting to mere pinpricks before pivoting with another gruff snarl. Clover promptly stalked away, but not before clubbing the woman in the face with a heavy, feathered tail. The woman spat, disgruntled for only the moment. She sighed once the creature was gone.

"Well, now that that's over…" She motioned to the battered couch. " _Mi casa es su casa._ "

"Sorry?"

"It's Spanish. Means 'make yourself at home'."

"Oh. Right."

He frowned when she declined to do the same, so he remained standing, watching as she moved to trade out the bow she carried with another that was lying around. He gave the place another cursory look.

"What exactly was that thing? Another dinosaur?"

"Yes, actually. Good eye."

"But…that one had feathers. And the other one didn't."

"Good eye, again. Carmilla is a mutt. She was made in a lab. Created. Crafted from different building blocks of different animals, both living and prehistoric. She has raptor and tyrannosaurus DNA inside her. I think I identify a few other types of theropods, although what species, I'm unsure of. But I know she absolutely has trace amounts of others in her. Clover, on the other hand, is a pure-bred Dakotaraptor. Very feisty, very dangerous. Don't piss her off."

"Does Clover also speak what Carmilla speaks?"

"The signing?" The woman paused as she tested the bowstring. "Hmmm. Yes, she can understand it. But Clover isn't capable of creating too many signs herself. She doesn't have the wrist capabilities. See? Like the wings of a bird, she doesn't have the same range as a human would. Carmilla does. She has opposable thumbs and a wider range of motion with her wrists, which gives her a distinct advantage over raptors. But they are all rather intelligent and can understand, to a degree, what I say. Body language is also important."

"I would imagine."

Body language had always been a large part in the circus, he remembered, with the lions, the tigers, the elephants, even the performing dogs. They all depended on cues from their tamers, although their words also held an impact during performances and training alike. It held true everywhere else as well, it seemed.

"It's amazing," he said with a grin. He couldn't help it. Dinosaurs— _living dinosaurs_! Now that the shock had worn off and he wasn't anywhere near their teeth and claws, he felt he could actually process the idea more properly. "How is that they're alive? Have they been here all along? What other kinds are on this island? I can't imagine so many predators would be alive to reach adulthood if there wasn't a steady food supply!"

He wasn't a scientist, far from it. And as far as he remembered, he hadn't been an entirely big enthusiast on dinosaurs—but that was probably because they were all long dead and gone, nothing but bones on display in museums. Seeing them in the flesh and apparently with feathers as well, he felt a childish excitement bubbling in his chest. He's already seen two of them and they were both quite alive and thriving. Not to mention, they both seemed to listen to this very strange woman. That alone was exciting enough. He wondered if anyone else was as privileged. Besides the Solarii—he had a feeling that after the initial shock, the Solarii wouldn't have been as mystified by a group of dangerous predators that were most likely sent out to kill them by this woman.

The idea suddenly didn't seem as magical now.

She tilted her head at him as he blurted out his questions, carefully and slowly returning the bowstring to its ready position.

"It doesn't matter," she said to him, clipping it to the holster she had the last one on. "You're not staying here to find out all that much. Now, if you'll just hang tight, I'll be back in a few hours."

"Wait. Do you…do you have anything to eat? I'm a bit famished."

That was an understatement. He was starving. Like his current predicament and how exactly he had ended up on this island, he couldn't pinpoint the last time he'd eaten. He was willing to safely bet that it has been a few days.

The woman looked annoyed one moment, resigned the next. Carefully, she began undoing the sling that held her rifle and unbuckled the holsters to her knives and the pistol at her back. The quiver with its arrows were left where they were, and the bow re-slung. Lastly, she crossed the room to search the scaffolding and storage units, until she moved to a locker and pulled something out. When she came back to him, she held out the object and he took it, bemused at first.

"It's a radio, like mine. Depress the button on the side there before you speak into it. Use it in emergencies only. The channel sometimes interferes with Solarii stations; if you talk, they'll hear it. Try to be sparing."

"Wait, what do you mean, 'use it in emergencies only'? Where're you going?" He was a little alarmed and moved to follow her, but the aloof stare she pinned him with made him stop instantly.

"I'm going hunting. If you tag along, you'll end up scaring off the prey animals. I'll be back soon."

Allen cast a quick gaze over his shoulder at the startling noise of a long, drawn out hiss from behind him. He whirled to see Clover peeping out of the cave she'd gone through and staring at him with narrowed, avian eyes and a puffed out coat of feathers, making herself look larger.

"What about her?"

"Clover won't hurt you, so long as you don't threaten her. If anything, she'll keep you safe. Even if she is a little banged up, she can dish out some nasty punishment. You'll keep an eye on him, won't you, Clover?"

Clover cough-barked twice. She dissolved in a steady stream of purrs right after.

"That means yes. Just…don't leave here. If you do, I'm not going to waste my time and resources looking for your dumb ass. Also….see those rifles over there? Underneath the deer skull?"

He clacked his mouth shut in a clench at her insulting remarks, but nodded nonetheless when she gestured to the aforementioned rifles.

"Don't pick any of them up. I've rigged them to blow if you don't take them out in a precise order. It destroys this cave and anyone stupid enough to try and rob me. It also buries my assets to prevent anyone from getting the weapons and ammo and using them against me. If I can't get to them, then no one can."

He was somewhat mortified at that. He glanced more warily at the rifles and the rack they were so meticulously hanging from now.

"Aren't you afraid of doing that yourself?"

"No. I'm more worried about nosy guests and the Solarii alike stupid enough to attempt to rob me doing that than I ever would myself." She tapped her temple with a finger. "I got it all memorized up here about which order it is. It's a need to know basis and you don't need to know."

She saluted him with her bow and headed for the fortified exit. The moment she was gone, he truly felt alone—that is, he did feel all alone until he felt a hot gush of breath against the top of his head and a soft squeal behind him.

Clover towered over him with a display of sharp teeth in his face when he whirled with a yelp.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

She returned right before evening began settling in. She had said only a few hours, but nearly the entire day had gone by. He couldn't really tell being behind a solid wall of stone and steel, however. He only knew because of the lighting outside when he had arrived and when she had returned.

Clover alternated between the adjoining cave-room she had been in when he arrived and the larger chamber Allen occupied. Once, he tried to follow the raptor and once was all he needed. Clover promptly turned him on his backside with a squealing howl of rage at his attempt.

He promptly turned his attentions to exploring other available adjacent caves. One was obviously the woman's living space. There were more bows inside, at least three of them, and almost a dozen quivers with possibly nearly a hundred arrows at her disposal. Each looked like they had been handcrafted, except for the large black metal bow with its twined metal wire bowstring. It looked powerful.

Her bed was simple, a nest of furs really, although there were plumes of long feathers he presumed from Clover that lined the nest. There was a squashed little dresser in the corner, and on the top of it was at least two more knives, the skulls of little animals, a few statues depicting a regal woman (most of the details and features were sadly worn with age), and a small vanity mirror. There were locked metal lockers lining the wall, alongside wooden crates filled with dozens of odd baubles and trinkets, books and scrolls and tomes of varying sizes, treasures of all kinds, candles on any available surface—all were unlit, most were melted and he had to bring one in just to see anything—and of course another skull mounted on the wall. This one was large and strange, however. It was huge—with a concave frilly skull that was probably as long as he was tall horizontally across and perhaps taller than he was. Two long and enormous horns sprouted above the eye sockets. A third much smaller and thicker horn was mounted above the huge, beak-like mouth. Paint covered the surface of the bone, strange symbols and symmetrical patterns all around. It was strangely beautiful, in a macabre sort of way.

He left her chambers and continued his search. He found another cave with small scraps of food. He helped himself, a little guilty at first, but knew she would be back with more food. Another cave revealed a bathing chamber. It looked like the water leaked from a hole near the ceiling, and she had managed to dam it up. He wondered if she had a way of draining the basin of water too, but it was too dark to see. He couldn't tell if this room served as a place to go to the bathroom as well. It was something he'd have to ask as soon as she came back.

In the midst of his exploring, she had returned. He didn't know when, but when he came back to the main cave, she was there, collapsed on the couch, doing something to her side. In the soft amber glow of the candles, he couldn't tell what it was at first, not until he got closer. That was when he saw the blood all along her side, her hands. Clover hovered around her, snuffling the top of her head softly with her breath.

"Git. Clover, _git_. I got this, I go—aaaahhhh…ah. Ffffffucking hell…those fucking assholes, shooting me..."

He could see her hand shaking as she used a tool in her hands to yank something out of her side and he hurried over. She saw him and groaned quietly, gritting her teeth tightly.

"What happened?" He tried not to sound so alarmed, but he was probably failing. Seeing his host—and the only person who he could consider an ally at this point—injured had put him on edge suddenly. She, on the other hand, was not as worried.

"Ambush on the south side, in the coastal forest. Assholes. Nearly lost the deer twice carrying them back here."

The woman motioned vaguely to the side with a blood-covered hand. He glanced over and he saw a large, formless mass off to the side. He squinted, making out soft fur, an antlered head—no, two heads—and eight legs. Two deer. She'd brought back two of them. Clover huffed and squealed, dancing on the spot. The woman waved again.

"Go. Go eat. Take one, leave the other, Clover."

Clover was off the moment she'd said 'go', charging forward with renewed vigor. The raptor latched onto one of the legs of the deer—easily smaller than she was—and tugged hard, dragging it across the cave floor. He averted his gaze, trying not to lose his appetite at the sight as Clover drug the deer out of sight and into her own designated cave.

He turned back to the woman instead, seeing she had laid down her tool on the coffee table and was standing, a hand gingerly pressed to her side. Allen still felt uneasy at the sight of the blood at her side and annoyed at her nonchalance about her injury. He tried to bury it when he spoke again.

"Do you need any help? Bandages, medicine?"

"I'm fine."

"But you were shot!"

"And now I'm healed. See?" She removed her hand and lifted her shirt just enough to show the bloodied skin beneath, but…no wound. No injury. Nothing but healed skin. But underneath all that…underneath the blood, he could see traces of scar tissue, unevenly healed along her belly in jagged lines and—then it was gone again, hiding underneath her shirt.

"How…?

"I'm not human. You suspected as much, but you didn't say anything. Go on, you can admit it."

He frowned at her chiding tone at first.

"I didn't know if that was something I should have brought up at all quite yet," he intoned carefully. "It seemed a bit rude to accuse my host as being something other than human."

"I accuse myself of not being human. And it's not so much as an accusation as it is a fact. I'm a werewolf. No, I don't eat humans nor do I bite them and run off to allow them to suffer the same troubles that I do. I change under the full moon into a wolf monster, and have many advantages over humans, accelerated regenerative abilities being one of them." She assessed his confused look before amending with, "I heal very, very fast. The moment I pulled that arrowhead out, my body was already healing around the wounded tissue until it was like I was never injured."

"Oh…I've never met a werewolf before. I once thought I'd met a vampire, but it turned out he wasn't one. He's a friend of mine, now." He paused. "Are there other werewolves?"

"Here? No. Out in the world? Yes. I don't know how many. In fact, I don't know any other werewolves, period. They're all assholes, frankly. Although I am too, come to think of it. At least I don't eat people."

She moved away as she spoke, toward the deer left lying on the cave floor. He stared after her, suddenly very wary but still fascinated. He watched as she picked up the deer by the antlers and dragged it out toward the burnt out campfire. He was surprised at the lack of blood, until she spoke aloud, as though reading his thoughts. Could she read thoughts? He hoped not.

"I drained the blood of both deer before I was ambushed. I didn't want to be tracked back here by leaving a trail. It took a while, but it's worth the extra precaution. Plus, there's less mess for me to deal with back here. I'm gonna cut this sucker up now, skin the fur and later on boil off the rest of the gristle we don't eat off the bones. Some organs we can eat and some we have to dispose of—I'll give those to Clover's pack mates when they stop by." She paused as she drew a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh. It was long and bone-white with a metal edge. The hilt handle was leather, but the pommel—it looked like actual bone. "If you can get me some fresh firewood from over there, and then the big meat spit I have in the room in there, the one with the blue curtain. That would be great. The sooner we get the meat on the spit, the sooner we can eat."

He moved at her direction, bringing her firewood and even a candle to help light it up. She waved that away however, and sent him scuttling off toward the aforementioned cave, one of the ones he hadn't yet explored. Inside were all sorts of tools, some for hunting, others for digging, scavenging, and other manners of jobs. He quickly returned with the large, metal contraption she spoke of: the meat spit. It was surprisingly lightweight but it was cumbersome as he carried it into the main cave, setting it beside the campfire that was now blazing. The wood crackled and popped merrily away, while the woman had gone to work on the deer carcass.

True to her word, there was very little blood left to make a mess as she skinned it first, setting aside the pelt as she did, and then split open the ribcage to carefully extract the organs out. She had, at some point in his absence, gathered bowls of varying sizes and put the organs in them. She worked quickly, proficiently, and without pause until she had sizeable chunks of meat skewered on the spit he had brought. The meat sizzled as juices dribbled onto the fire below, making the fire itself hiss and spit even louder than it had before.

"Now, I hang the pelt to dry. I'll do the nastier work later on, like removing the brain and eyeballs from the skull."

He politely and wisely declined on acknowledging or commenting on that. She continued working, and as she did, his stomach only continued to rumble. The few snacks he managed to scavenge hadn't even put a dent in his appetite, and frankly, this gruesome display wasn't making him lose it, either. When the food was ready at last, she sliced it into pieces and onto a chipped plate. He almost asked for a whole slab, but then thought better of it. If he wanted more, he could simply slice it off himself. And he would be wanting more.

It was the most delicious thing he ate in quite a while and he wasn't ashamed to admit he forgot his manners for a time. It wasn't as though she had provided any proper cutlery to begin with, but Allen didn't mind. The meat wasn't spiced or loaded with any kind of herbs, rub, or flavouring, but it was still delicious to sink his teeth into, meat-grease and all. It was slightly gamey, but that didn't bother him at all.

She continued to work in lieu of eating, extracting more meat to replace on the spit, removing bone as best she could and where she could. It got to the point where Allen wasn't sure what she was doing, he had tuned her out so effortlessly. It got to the point where he had nearly eaten the entire deer's worth of meat, with only a few pounds left to consume that he realized she hadn't yet touched a scrap of food.

He paused in the midst of this revelation, feeling partly guilty.

"Aren't you going to eat some?"

"I'll be fine. You eat." She glanced at the spit, noticing that most of it had already been taken. He felt more than a little guilty as her stare lingered on the remaining scraps of meat, and the way she turned back to work without another word said.

She finished her work and gathered everything she could, carefully relocating bones and organs and the pelt and bowls to another site inside one of the caves beyond. She made two more trips, including one to her designated room, wearing fresher clothes this time, but still form fitting enough to prevent unwanted snagging of any sort. They looked like she's had them for a long time, he noted. They were slightly faded and well worn.

"You should get some sleep while you can. Storm's coming. Big'un, too."

He hesitated. "And what about you?"

"I can keep watch. I won't get much sleep anyway."

"Why not?"

She was quiet for a time. Then, "It doesn't matter."

"You say that quite a lot."

"I do…but only because it's true. You aren't staying for long, so I can wait things out. And when you're gone, I can attend to other chores. I can afford to put some things on hold." When she smiled it was small, bitter, and without humour. "It's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It doesn't matter. You'll leave, I'll stay and I'll wait for the next hapless idiot that ends up on this island."

"But…why? Why would you stay? Don't you want to get out of this place?" He had seen very little, and but even that was enough to sway his bias that this place was not a dream vacation. In fact, it more or less resembled a hellish contest to stay alive, to survive.

"There's only one way off. And only you can take it."

"That doesn't make sense. What's preventing you from leaving?"

"It doesn't matter. And you're certainly not staying."

"Why not? You need help."

"Do I look like the kind of person who needs any sort of help?"

He thought on his answer and decided to rehash it out and rephrase. He didn't like the way she was glaring so intently on him, like she was trying to burn holes in him for even insinuating she wasn't capable of doing things that needed to get done.

"You were shot!" He remarked sharply, even under the scrutiny of her scowling gaze. "And it looks like you're all alone. I mean, besides the dinosaurs, but you don't have any _people_ to keep you company. Aren't you tired of that?"

She looked away and for a time, focused her gaze on the campfire and the crackling, red hot embers beneath. "I prefer to be alone. It's better that way."

An argument was already forming a lump in his throat and fighting its way to his mouth, but he hastily swallowed it back down when he noticed something new in her posture.

Her shoulders were slumped. Most would have dismissed it, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could see the strain in her body, the tiredness in her frame and she suddenly seemed too small, too tired, yet she was putting up a rather terrific front to hide it all.

She took advantage of his silence, cutting to the quick.

"And you don't like my methods in disposing the Solarii. You've only seen it once, but you already disapprove. Guess what? It's the only way to deal with them. They don't negotiate. They don't offer mercy."

A molten yellow-gold gaze bore down on him that dared him to argue. Any other time, he quite possibly would have shut his trap, with some decorum of grace, and bide his time until he left. But this was just too unusual a circumstance to ignore. There was someone in front of him that was quite obviously lonely and in need of help, even if she didn't care, didn't know, or didn't want to acknowledge the topic.

He dared to argue.

"There has to be _some_ other way. Have you ever tried negotiating? Talking it out with them, perhaps?"

He watched her, hopeful, but the longer she went silent, the more his hope whittled away.

"I tried twenty straight years of pulling strings and laying out opportunities to rally compromises of all sorts. You've never encountered the truly overzealous religious nutjobs until you've encountered those willing to kill the innocent and sacrifice them to a pagan deity."

"Twenty?!" The word had simply blurted out. He would have pegged her for her mid-twenties. Maybe late twenties and if he truly, absolutely _had_ to guess any higher, perhaps even early thirties. When she sighed, he could practically hear the years she's spent alone on this island in it. The very sound was heavy and burdened with untold decades behind it. Despite her small frame and youthful appearance, her eyes were old with age. There were too many years of seeing too much she hadn't wanted to see in their depths. And yet, despite her claims at being a werewolf, they looked more human than anything. "H-How old _are_ you? And how long have you been here on Yamatai?"

She didn't look at him when she answered. She looked back into the campfire again, distracting herself by adjusting the embers and repositioning the sticks within before adding fuel to the fire with fresh wood.

"I've tried asking for peace. I've tried negotiating without violence. I've tried asking for resolution and compromise, for a chance to work together, to help them escape. I've tried and tried and _tried_ and nothing I said or did would appease Mathias and his Solarii cult. They want their blood and they want their bullets. They want to slaughter without a mind filled with guilt or remorse for their actions. They cast aside what made them a part of human society, once upon a time, and embraced a life of senseless violence and bloody sacrifice. They take pleasure in it and they willingly gave up their freedom and free-will and humanity to follow Mathias blindly and without question in order to achieve that. They've _allowed_ themselves to conform to his will and refuse to stand up against it. It's kill or be killed on this island."

There it was again, that phrase. She dealt in that kind of absolute, that black-and-white mindset without room for a little grey area to retreat to in times of uncertainty. It was all or nothing. This island was cruel and had claimed too many lives, even of those who were still living.

It had certainly claimed hers.

"Why won't you leave this place?" He finally asked of her, before a thought struck him. She didn't respond, but it was answer enough. It dawned on him slowly but surely. He wasn't asking the right question.

"You…you can't leave, can you?"

When she smiled, it was cold and caustic. Bitter. Exhausted. It was a kind of smile he was all too familiar with.

"Just like I tried countless times to negotiate with the Solarii and Mathias…I've tried leaving this place. And each time I tried, everything reset itself. The Sun Queen…Himiko…returned. The men I killed, including Mathias, they're revived. Anything I have done outside my little sanctuary in here, it returns to its previous setting, the same as when I had first set foot in this place." She fell silent and he remained as such, stunned at the revelation. Any survivors she recovered and helped, they could leave.

The one person who deserved to leave, however, the one who seemed to have done so much—she couldn't leave and was left here to rot. But why?

"How _long_ have you been here?"

"I don't know. Decades, at least. The thing about werewolves…we live a _very_ long time. Thousands of years, even. I'm not that old, though. I think." It seemed to be the default answer to everything. She didn't know her name, her age, how long she'd been on the island. The only certainties she knew was her lycanthropic nature, immortal longevity, incredible regeneration factor, and most of all, she was stuck on Yamatai with seemingly no hope of ever getting off.

He pitied how resigned she acted toward such a fate, without so much as a fight left in her.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _ **Addendum Note:**_ **In honour of the newly discovered Dakotaraptor, I have chosen the more proper species of raptor—in my opinion—for living on the island, in lieu of my original choice of the Velociraptors from film proper. I recognize that this may put off some of you. Please bear in mind that Dakotaraptor is the more proper species—again, in my opinion—solely due to its closer time period respects, feathered anatomical correctness, and large size in comparison to the Velociraptors. Perhaps at a later date, I'll include the Velociraptor, but this story is not that time.**

 **Ironically, if some of you didn't know, during the consultation to the original Jurassic Park, Robert T. Bakker and his men discovered the Utahraptor right in the middle of production of the film. The artists in charge of designing the dinosaurs had previously complained about the inaccuracy relative to the Velociraptor's size in comparison to the design meant for the movie. Specifically, the size difference. Velociraptor is actually quite tiny. Lo and behold, a day after this repeat-offender complaint, Utahraptor was unearthed-the very animal they began modeling their raptors after. The more you know!**


	2. Chapter Two: Monster

**Chapter Two:  
Monster**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO  
** _  
"You're off the edge of the map, mate. Here there be_ monsters _."_ **  
-Captain Hector Barbossa, "** _ **Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl**_ **"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The storm came rolling in, almost without warning. Or it would have, if the woman hadn't warned him of it earlier at the very least. When Allen had stepped outside to get some fresh air and to clear his head, the sky had been perfectly clear one moment, and then it was a caustic tempest the next. He ducked back inside just as the rain came pelting down without mercy. It pounded away against the impromptu metal wall that blocked the cave entrance, demanding entrance. He stared at the wall for a long time, almost certain that it would cave in, especially when the wind howled and screamed its way through the miniature canyon he and the woman had to traverse to get here.

The woman was finishing with cleaning things up when he came back inside. She nodded her head toward another passage.

"This way. You can use the guest room."

The guest room wasn't luxurious but it would do for a short spell, he reasoned. There was an actual mattress and bedframe, at least and it was dry. There were all sorts of blankets in a woven basket in the corner. A small dresser sat beside it, laden with a few candles, a wash bowl, and another mirror.

"Extra clothes, if you need any. Extra blankets, too. Holler if you need anything."

"Um…bathroom?"

"The cave with the water pools; there's a bucket in there. Sorry I can't do anything better. Kind of hard to get modern day plumbing in this place. Just…make sure you take it out and bury any solid waste. I'll show you the cleanup kit later on."

He nodded his thanks to her, mumbling that he'd call if he needed anything else. He tried calling for the Ark again, hoping the first failed attempt had been a fluke. Maybe he could get a gate summoned, get himself and the woman off the island, get them as far away as they could get from Yamatai.

But there was nothing but a yawning emptiness where he once felt the Ark's presence. When he glanced into the mirror across the way sitting on the dresser, he scowled at the smiling, featureless figure in the background behind him. He knew they weren't physically there, not really, but it was still unnerving at times. He ignored the grinning figure, and turned to the mattress instead. It was clean, for what it was worth, or as clean as things could get on a hostile island where it seemed scavenging was a norm.

Allen covered the bed with a large, soft blanket, and after stripping of his boots and coat, he laid down, suddenly exhausted. He was asleep before a minute had passed that he'd been laying in the bed.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

It was freezing when he awoke. The candles had burned out and it was dark. Beyond the curtain that gave the feeble illusion of privacy, he could see the faint glow of light. Carefully, he sat up, feeling sore and stiff and tired. He wondered what time it is, and realized that it was most likely past the usual time he awoke for his morning exercise rituals. He awoke more quickly when his bare feet hit the stone floor and a jolt of ice shot up his leg like a bolt of lightning. He hurriedly shoved his socks and boots on, but left his coat.

He was grateful it was warmer in the main chamber, but he immediately forgot about the comfort when he stepped outside. He stopped shortly after exiting his room when he saw the woman sitting beside the campfire, surrounded by a gaggle of Clover-clones. Most, if not all, looked his way and watched him with wary golden avian eyes, bared teeth, and ruffled feathers slowly puffing up along their heads, necks and bodies. Some had crests and others didn't, but all raised up high enough to give them a bigger appearance well enough.

Allen was so busy staring at the raptors, that he almost missed the state of his host. It was only when she clucked her tongue at them that they settled and most turned their eyes away from him so quickly, it was like he didn't exist. With that noise, his attention was drawn back to the woman and he stiffened at the sight of her.

She was covered in blood and grime, her clothing either slashed or filled with holes. Her focus was on the campfire and she had her hand stuck inside it as she rearranged the logs and added a few new ones to stoke it. He stared, flabbergasted at the sight. Allen gave a cursory look around the place, worried that he had slept through an assault, but there was nothing to suggest some nasty battle in the cave.

He ventured closer, both wary of her feathered dinosaur companions as well as the aloof look on her face. It was as though she wasn't quite there or she hadn't registered there was someone else in the room with her yet.

Allen saw she was more focused on cooking. There was a huge pot that was suspended on a hook over the spit they had used last night for the deer. She stood, removing her hand from the fire and the embers below and picked up a ladle to stir the contents within. They smelled heavenly and his initial shock was momentarily forgotten at the scent that stirred up his hunger once more. He could smell onions and garlic and potatoes, a hint of mushrooms and the hearty scent of meat, along with the herbs and spices she must have used to give it extra flavour. It easily overpowered the lingering scent of smoke that seemed a constant in this chamber.

But another look at her face, at her physical state, and he was back to worrying.

"What happened to you?"

When she looked up at him and blinked owlishly, it was as though she was having trouble remembering who he was, and why he was there. It was nearly a minute before she answered.

"I took out the Solarii stronghold, as well as pockets of their patrols throughout the island. Then I destroyed the Sun Queen and the Oni that guarded the monastery where she was held. The storms should be gone and we can get you off the island unmolested now. After I fix the boat, that is."

 _Sun Queen?_ She's mentioned that before, he was certain of it.

The question must have shown on his face, because she sighed and sat back down on her log.

"The Sun Queen, Himiko…she's the reason this island is plagued by storms all the time. Why the Solarii can't leave and therefore resort to their methods. They worship Himiko through their violence, like some pagan god. It's why they kill men who resist, recruit those who don't into their folds, and why they burn women alive and then string up their remains and pray before them."

Allen's stomach churned as the woman spoke and the sudden image of his friends suffering such a fate if they ever came here—or any other person, for that matter. God, this place was an insane hellhole. Why would anyone live like this? How could they live with that kind of guilt? It was…it was…

He couldn't even find the right emotion for it. It all seemed to blend together into a raw, aching ball of disgust, fury, pity, indignation and so much more. He was drawn out of his thoughts, even as questions began lining up at the forefront of his mind, ready to be fired off, when the woman started speaking up again.

"Once upon a time, there was a woman who ruled all of Japan from this little island. Her name was Himiko. She was known as the first and last Sun Queen. She was beautiful and enigmatic and incredibly powerful, with a secret power that kept her people both happy and afraid of her and even had them worshipping her like a goddess. Her Stormguard were the only men to serve her. Otherwise, she was attended to by women only. And of those women, she'd choose a successor among them as she grew older. This chosen successor would want for nothing in her life from that moment on, and that priestess and her family would rise to the top of Yamatai society."

The woman paused, stirring the concoction in the pot again. When she removed the ladle, she began speaking again. Allen forgot about the food, and for once, ignored the tantalizing scent that wafted about in the cave. He was more fascinated in the narrative the woman was weaving for him.

"Her secret power came twofold. One, she could control the very elements. She could manifest raging tempests to blow her enemies out of the water or could will the sea to becalm itself and give allies and her people alike safe passage, as well as good crops with perfect weather and peaceful living conditions. Two…she wasn't always the same woman and yet she was never a new one, either. While she did have successors, they were never that same person once she passed on her power to them. She could transfer her immortal soul into mortal vessels and continue her reign endlessly. Her soul destroyed the other, once she transferred over, making her live up to her title of "the first and last". No one but her general knew this secret and they guarded it jealously, even from her own people. But during her rule, a priestess chosen to be her successor, her next vessel, found out about the ceremony's transaction and in her horror, took her own life during the soul-transfer ceremony."

The pole with the pot was picked up and gently moved away from the fire. Once arranged away from the heat of the fire, the woman picked up two bowls and ladled sizeable portions into them.

"The general, in his grief at failing his sacred mission to protect the Sun Queen, committed _seppuku_ , but not before obligating his Stormguard to protecting Himiko's body. Her immortal soul is now trapped within a rotting mortal body and her rage has been striking down any and all vessels that come close to Yamatai. This island is now a graveyard, for both the ships that crash upon the shores as well as the people that somehow make it alive to the island proper. They don't last long, however. Her Stormguard are now known as the Oni, the monstrous samurai warriors that have lived for thousands of years, fulfilling their duties of protecting her body and killing all who step foot on the island."

She offered him a bowl and he took it without realizing. The fragrance from its contents barely stirred his earlier ravenous appetite. He barely noticed it, so intent he was on hearing out the woman as she spoke of this intrinsic tale.

"The Solarii are the first large group in recorded history that I've found that has survived against the Oni and for so long. There have been soldiers from various nations that landed on the island from time to time, but they never lasted very long. So long as they don't get too close to the monastery, however, the Oni won't actively hunt the Solarii. They've learned to bide their time."

"And you've survived well enough on your own."

The woman nodded. "If I were human, I probably wouldn't have lasted this long. But being what I am, I have a rather distinct, and sometimes unfair, advantage against the Solarii. I can survive quite a lot, including falling off long drops, and going without food or water or sleep if need be for much longer periods of time. I heal much faster, as you've seen. I am many times stronger and sturdier, despite how I look, than the average human. I also live longer with little consequence. I can hear and see and smell farther and better as well."

She inhaled deeply, looking into the dish she had made, steam rising up to greet her. For a long moment, she remained silent and contemplative, as though forming her next words with care. At last, she said, "But even with all that, I can still die. Probably. I know I could bleed out if I get enough holes in me. I know I can lose limbs, if I'm not careful. I'm not really immortal, just long lived. I can get hurt and I do, often. I don't like it, but sometimes I have to endure a little pain to get results. And I use it to my advantage to help any who end up on Yamatai, much like yourself. It's a shitty job, but someone has to do it. Might as well be me."

She ended there. He didn't realize it until he saw that she was staring at him very intently, no longer interested in the contents of her bowl. The orange glow of the fire close by made her mismatched eyes seem to glow and flicker with a hidden intensity. She wasn't just studying him, he suddenly realized. She was waiting for him to respond. It took him a very long minute for that revelation to dawn upon him and he felt justifiably foolish for not having figured it out much sooner.

"I...didn't realize how much there was to this place. But…why is it that you can't leave? And why is it just you doing this?"

The questions poured out without him thinking, and again, he realized the futility in asking too late. He had more questions certainly, but they had lodged themselves in his throat. The woman kept her gaze pinned on him as she considered her answers…if she even considered answering him, that was.

After a time, she squared her shoulders a little more and they lifted into a listless shrug as she looked away.

"Don't know. And at this point, I honestly can't say I care all that much anymore. I'm too damned old to give a damn."

When she looked back at him, he could almost see her age and agree. She still had the same eyes that had seen too much in too little time, but that time had added up and left its mark on her. It was difficult to get past her youthful appearance, however. It just didn't match up.

"All that matters is that I get you down to the beach, safe and sound. There's still pockets of Solarii around the island—those who have gone radio dark and don't realize what's going on. They probably don't even know Mathias is dead, and most of their people are too, or that Himiko and the Oni have been dispatched as well. Even if they did, they're more likely prone to attacking, especially if they see me fixing the boat and getting it fired up. It's one of the few that has a salvageable engine, and I'm the only person on this goddamned wet rock who can get it working again."

"Have you offered to let them leave?"

"And what, let them loose on polite society?" She snorted, and it was an ugly sound. The raptors repeated the noise, startling Allen enough that he jumped in his seat. He had forgotten all about the creatures. They had skulked away from sight, just beyond the fringes of the campfire's glow and into the shadows where they could watch. He looked all around and saw vague shapes that alluded to their presence, and more importantly, the glitter of their eyes reflecting the firelight. Their sudden silence only disturbed him all the more. When he returned his attention back to the woman, she was scooping more food from the pot into her bowl. He glanced down at his own and was surprised to see his bowl empty as well and couldn't recall having eaten any of it, but he was still hungry. He passed his over to her.

"Letting the Solarii get off Yamatai would be a mistake. They couldn't be rehabilitated even by the best and the brightest out in the real world; they've done too many vile things that can't be ignored or excused or pardoned. Some of the shit they've done would be considered war crimes."

"And your actions are nobler and worth overlooking if you ever got off, is that it?"

He hadn't meant to sound so spiteful, yet it had come out as such. How callous could one get, to forgo helping the men who were supposedly forced into killing against their will? It sounded a bit hypocritical of her, in lieu of her earlier arguments from last night. The woman paused in her ministrations, ladle resting in his bowl as she regarded him. Her lips upturned into a crooked smile.

"No. No, I don't believe I deserve redemption any more than they do. I've done my share of bad things. Although straight up murdering innocent people—children, even—and rape as an afterthought, haven't even found their way onto my list of offenses. Even evil has standards."

"So you think you're evil."

"I've done bad things. To survive, to save people, to keep them safe. Just because my intentions were good, doesn't mean my actions reflect as such. Anyone could argue with that as a defense and I wouldn't correct them. One could argue so far as to say I'm evil, despite my intentions. I made my choices. I continue to. I could have chosen to let the Solarii capture you or allowed them to kill you where they found you. I could have looted your corpse afterwards and left your body for the wolves or the Compies to scavenge off of without so much as an attempt to bury you. I could have done a lot of things. I chose to help you. But my actions meant I had to kill the Solarii to save you. Either way, someone's blood got spilled. Do you regret my saving you?"

Her eyes held the same predatory glimmer as her raptors that watched them both so intently. He resisted the urge to squirm under their gazes. He also wanted to squirm at the dilemma she presented. It was true what she said: it was either let the Solarii kill him (or attempt to at least) or kill them to keep him alive and relatively unharmed. If there really was no use in trying to appeal to their better natures or negotiating of any sort, then it was a perfect example of kill or be killed.

Allen remembered what the Russian man had said moments before he died: " _She's come for you, boy_. _I'll kill you before she gets a chance to even see your face._ "

He had seen the absolute conviction in the man's dark eyes, the wholehearted intent of wanting to murder him in cold blood. It was always jarring to be reminded that the world was still filled with heartless souls such as his in this world. Allen allowed the silence to drag on, unsure of how to answer her. Was she evil for doing what she had to save people, most likely innocents that were unarmed and unsure of how they found themselves on Yamatai, and by doing so she had to kill those who would kill them? The answers he came to ended up leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

His quietness apparently was enough for her to go off on. She leaned back on her makeshift seat and put her bowl down. "Say what you will of my methods. But I do what I have to do to ensure your survival and others like you who end up here. The Solarii mean to end you without remorse. I mean to continue allowing you to breathe and make it off this wet rock. And besides," she smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes as she spoke. "It's not like they're staying dead. I told you before. Those who die, end up revived after a time. Whether I killed them or not, they come back, ready to murder all over again."

He looked at her sharply. She had mentioned that before, now that he remembered, but it hadn't registered the first time. He was suddenly reminded of Miranda and her Innocence, Time Record.

"The time between when you kill the Solarii and Himiko and you get whoever you rescue off of Yamatai and when the Solarii are revived—is there an exact period of time between it all? A day or two before it all resets?" He was desperate for some reassurance or evidence that he wasn't alone. On the one hand, he wouldn't wish this place upon any of his friends at all, but if they were here and they had somehow escaped this woman's notice—he just wanted to know, for sure.

The woman, however, didn't even think on the answer. She knew it off the bat.

"No. There's no dedicated amount of time between it all. Sometimes, I go years without seeing any signs of the Solarii, the Oni, or Himiko's revival. Other times, it can be only days before it resets. And sometimes, when I'm feeling especially stupid and mistaking it for good fortune, I end up triggering the reset myself by trying to get out of range of Yamatai, whether by swimming or using a raft. I don't try anymore—I rather like not drowning, thanks very much."

His heart sank and felt elated all at once. His friends weren't here. That meant, for the time, they were safe from this hellhole. He was both disappointed and grateful for that reassurance.

"You were hoping for one of your own to be here, weren't you?"

Allen looked up at the woman and nodded. She was sharp as a tack and he gathered it was from her years of being sharply observant.

"If I see any more of your people bearing that cross of yours—I'll tell them you said hello. Gather your things. We're heading to the beach in ten minutes."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

It took a better part of the whole day to reach the beach.

They had to duck through more of the ruinous parts of the island—bunkers from an old war, the woman had explained, built by soldiers she had mentioned previously about. Most rooms were either collapsed or flooded, but there were plenty of routes to choose from regardless. They managed to make it relatively unscathed and without much fanfare, however. Carmilla was awaiting for them both, wading through the waves and spearing her head into the waters to catch fish. When they approached the decrepit remains of another bunker, she was upon them in a heartbeat.

Allen wisely chose not to get underfoot and allowed the woman to weave around the dinosaur's legs without nary a care. Apparently, she didn't seem to care much about being accidentally stepped on or kicked as he did.

"We'll be a while down here, sweets. See if you can't find the old lady, won't you?"

The woman gave a brief kiss on the giant's nose. Carmilla rumbled low and deep, before lifting her skull away and retreated from the site. Up the hill they had just descended she went, until she disappeared around the bend of the mountain that loomed over the beachhead.

The woman got another campfire going, and dropped the pack she had carried with supplies in it. It positively bulged with tools, snacks, extra ammo, and other equipment. Removing the bulk of the contents, the woman wrapped a leather tool belt around her waist, adjusting it so it fit. The tools went in next, arranged just so. Or so Allen assumed. Lastly, she tied her hair back and out of the way, but smaller tufts hung to frame her face.

"I'll be around the corner. Feel free to wander, but don't go too far, if can help it. If you need me…well, I'll most likely be elbow deep in the boat's engine. Try not to be too needy. I won't be much help if you do. Feel free to raid the snacks. I brought them for you."

His expression soured at her words but she turned away too quickly to see. It quickly morphed into open curiosity and surprise when he registered the full extent of her message and he cautiously went over to inspect the bag and found several deer skins inside, all carefully wrapped up and full of something. Opening one such parcel, he found a bundle of berries. In another, dried deer jerky. A few bottles of water were at the bottom of the pack.

Allen found himself a little more curious about his surroundings and set himself to pass the time by wandering the surrounding area. There were remnants and relics of many a bygone era scattered along the beach alone, never mind the island as a whole. He saw shipping containers, old wooden quays mixing with the concrete bunker they were basing in. In the distance of the grey waters, he could see an old sailing ship, beached upon a pile of rocks. Along the cliffs far off to the left of the bunker, he could make out more shipping containers and a metal ship—or what was a part of one, anyway. To their right, closer to where the woman was working, the giant remains of a wholly intact metal ship lay on its side, its deck displayed toward them. On the beach proper, there were old vehicles, sitting idly in the gritty sands and rusting away under the harsh briny sea air. Gulls circled above, crying plaintively into the empty air. Crabs scuttled and hurried along the lapping waves. Once, he thought he saw a boar trotting on the beach, but it had been too quick for him to be sure.

He could hear the woman cursing on occasion when he returned to the makeshift camp, poking around in some of the few intact rooms that even had doors. Dusty old desks sat in corners and he found a book on one of them, _Robinson Crusoe_ by Daniel DeFoe. Its pages were yellowed with age and they smelled slightly musty in the way that only books could, but it was a small comfort to have something to do. He tried reading it but was barely ten pages in when he realized he was unable to focus on the words on the pages. It was also because the story was so depressing; the man had remained abandoned on the island for nearly three decades before help arrived. It hit a little too close to home in an ironic sense. He set it aside at first, and then as an afterthought, put it in the woman's bag. Maybe she'd enjoy it better than he. Thirty years seemed to pale in comparison. Besides, her personal chambers had quite a collection. One more couldn't hurt, could it?

Allen jumped when he heard a steady stream of expletives and shortly after, a thundering crash sound off where the woman was working on the boat. It was a metal thing, bare and unremarkable in appearance. He got up and trotted over to where she was working, on edge and alarmed immediately when he found her on the ground, a giant block of metal pipes and screws and nuts and other pieces of things he was guessing was the engine, lying next to her. Her shirt was blooming with red and it was growing. She saw him coming and shouted at him, "GET DOWN, THEY'RE HERE!"

He ducked in time as a staccato of bullets came raining down upon them both and dove for cover. She was out in the open, and caught another bullet in her shoulder, her side, her leg. She somehow managed to pick herself up and limp to the small cover in the boat—a half-canopy covering with a window—and pulled a pistol out of a holster at her back. She fired off a few around the corner of her cover.

"Where are they shooting from?!"

"Up on the ship over there—and the cliff sides to our rear!"

He peeped his head up, just enough to see what she was talking about and saw the flashes of muzzles in the distance. He ducked when a few more bullets whizzed past him. His heart pounded away against his ribcage. Allen steeled himself, preparing to summon his Crown Clown—perhaps he could get them out of there, she was too injured to evacuate herself and he was able enough.

His plans came to an abrupt end when he looked at the woman, saw her peer around her corner, shoot once, and then go down in an unceremonious slump herself as a spray of red popped out the back of her head. He stared for a long time, unsure of what he was seeing at first. Disbelief set in.

 _Get up,_ he told her. _Get up, get up, get up._

She didn't get up. He could see something spreading, dying all of her hair red instead of just the tips, saturating it completely. His heart dropped away into his stomach and almost felt like it had stopped altogether as he began processing what had just happened.

"No…no, no…"

The firing had stopped, but he barely noticed as he got up and staggered over to clamber into the boat and toward the woman. His hand shook as he reached out, patting her shoulder, shaking it, lifting her up into a sitting position. Her mismatched eyes were open and glazed over. A neat little red hole sat on her left temple, a small rivulet of blood dribbling out of it. She slumped over, falling limp in his hands. He recoiled, a white-hot fury building up in his chest. His Crown Clown manifested in a flash as the gunfire started up again, this time from behind him. His Innocence flared up, creating a shield against the bullets.

"You think that little trick's going to keep you alive for long? Give it up!"

"Not a chance, you bastards," he growled under his breath, yet he hesitated. These men weren't Akuma. He couldn't just charge into a fight with them—they were _humans_. Humans with guns, firing at him granted, but this wasn't the same as taking on the Akuma or even a Noah. This was different. His gut lurched with distaste at the thought of tearing into a group of men, despite the circumstances.

His hesitation cost him precious seconds. More pops of gunfire started coming down now, a literal hailstorm of metal cascading down upon him and if it weren't for his Innocence, he would have been nothing but a slab of meat with bloody holes in it by now. The sound was thunderous, and more men were honing in on him. They were determined to shoot him dead. His hesitation cost him distance as well. They were coming closer, pressing in for the final hour.

Or it would have seemed as such, if the body in front of him didn't twitch. He jumped in surprise and didn't get to react beyond that when the woman jerked upright and a throaty growl filled the air, rising above even the roar of the gunfire. Her eyes slid into focus and the hole in her head slowly closed, leaving only the rivulet of blood behind. Before he could blink, she juked to the side and into the gunfire, and some of the bullets stopped racing, long enough for him to just barely hear, "OH SHIT, RUN! FUCKING RUN!"

He turned on his heel sharply in time to see the carnage begin, his cloak snapping in the air. Blood sprayed. Men screamed in agony and as if their lives depended upon it. He could see them trying to get away, scrambling over the bunker structure and out toward the camp, but they didn't get far. The woman's arms had transformed, from lean and wiry limbs to hulking muscled things armed with dark fur and claws, ripping into their assailants like Allen wouldn't. He could see patches of fur spread across what little available he could see of the woman's body now, her face beginning to bulge and her eyes—they were almost aglow in a golden light, and a single-mindedness was written plainly on her features.

Only when the screams died and the men along with them, did she stop. He stared, unable to comprehend at first. He was numb to the sight of the blood speckling the crumbling grey walls and cracked grounds. He didn't register the bodies strewn about the place, sometimes in pieces or the guns left untouched as he picked his way past. He didn't even want to glance at them. The woman had retreated a little further away, leaning on one of the pillars that had once been a support beam for the bunker, breathing heavily, her weight sagging against it. One hand held her head, rubbed at her temples. He could see the blood still soaked into her hair and his stomach churned uneasily. Where a hole in her head should have been, there was skull and hair and flesh instead, fully healed and mended. He had seen it for himself. She had been dead!

He wanted to call out to her, but was suddenly reminded that she had no name. He didn't know what to call her. Asking if she was all right seemed a bit trite; she clearly wasn't, not after dying and then coming back to go on a homicidal killing spree.

"Take a picture if you want to keep staring. It'll last longer," she suddenly spat while her back was still turned to him, her voice low and husky and strained but it cut to the quick just as harshly.

"You…you're not…"

"Dead? _Hah_." She panted, and the noise eventually devolved into a piteous groan as she clutched her head. The fur along her arms and elsewhere slowly withdrew until only flesh remained. Her clothing was noticeably a little looser, like it had begun to stretch out. "Those bastards…have tried for decades…tried to kill me so many times, I've lost count after the first couple dozen times."

She groaned again, this time trying to stifle the noise. She pushed herself away from the broken pillar and moved on unsteady paws back toward the makeshift campsite, taking one step at a time, as steadily as she could manage. She collapsed, almost in relief and dragged her pack over, shoving things in without articulate grace of any sort in her movements.

"We've gotta get out of here. Where there's one group, another's bound to show up soon enough."

"But, the boat—"

"It's dead. They shot the engine to hell. I'm good with repairing machines—but I'm not a fucking miracle worker. I can't fix it."

He expelled a breath and it was painful to get it out as it dawned on him.

"I'm—I'm stuck. I'm stuck on this island with you, then." His heart sank and the hope to escape, to leave, they vanished in an instant.

"Until I can find a way to fix that engine, the answer is 'yes' for now. You're stuck with me. And you'll end up dead sooner rather than later if we don't get out of here."

He scuttled closer as she made to stand, but only succeeded in swaying back over to crumple on her side.

"You can't make the walk. We can dig in here, hold our own."

"Then you'll die, and I'll end up ripping more people into itty bitty pieces in the end. They have more weapons, more bullets, more firepower, _period_. I'm insane, not crazy. I know when to make a tactical retreat and this? This is one of those times. Now just…give me a sec to catch my breath and get my feet underneath me…"

"You can't even stand. You can't make it like this. You were shot in the head, and last time I checked, most people who have that happen to them generally don't get up to walk again!"

He was glaring at her and his fists had balled up tightly at his side. How stupid could she possibly be? How thick-headed would she remain until they were both leaving pieces of themselves all over the island by trying to make a run for it? A run she couldn't possibly make in her condition! Perhaps he could help her, but if there were still pocket groups dotting the island, they might not make it unscathed. Allen's ire guttered momentarily when the woman pushed herself back up to her feet, holding a bit more firmness in her movements this go around as she shouldered her pack. She held a determined set in her jaw and an absolute coldness in her eyes he hasn't yet seen before until now. He was taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor.

"You want to dig in like a fucking tick, you be my guest. Sit by that useless hunk of engine block with a neon sign hanging over your head announcing where you are, for all I care. I told you before, you want to let yourself get killed, then that's your prerogative. I won't stop you, not this time. Just don't come crying to me when you have a bullet in your back and a pack of those ugly bastards howling for your blood, kid."

Then, with a steadier step in her stride than he would have thought possible, she moved across the sand dunes and around the rocky pillars of stone and sand and scrub brush, up toward the top of the hill. He stared after her for a long while before he began moving after her, leaving behind the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. It almost sounded like the very sea was laughing at him.

He hurried his pace to catch up with her.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 ** _Note_ : Remember this, kids. Good does not necessarily mean nice. **


	3. Chapter Three: Armour

**Chapter Three:  
Armour  
**  
 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _I walk slowly into myself, through a forest of empty suits of armour."  
_ **-Tomas Transtromer**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The raptors weren't long in appearing. He didn't know their names, he just knew they were the same raptors like the one waiting for them back at the shelter. Just before they had left, the woman had released the pack, minus Clover herself. They had gone silently into the early morning light, disappearing on fleet and quiet feet. Now they returned, like wraiths in the oncoming dusk to flank the woman. A few times, they would crane their heads and necks to peer at Allen, trudging along at a distance. They'd snort and growl and cough-bark at him, showing off their sharp teeth and puffing up their feathered bodies. So far, they didn't attempt to derail his path or outright kill him, so he assumed for the moment he was safe.

The woman herself ignored him entirely. He slowly came to find that he didn't blame her for doing so, either. He had made a mistake in assuming she was too…well, delicate wasn't the right word for it, but it was close in his appropriation of the situation that had occurred on the beach. She had been shot in the head. She should rightly be dead, and she had even admitted that she could die, that it was possible. Apparently, a bullet to the brainpan wasn't one of the ways she could be killed, however. She had taken offense to his miscalculated judgement of her ability to press on. He was beginning to worry she wouldn't let him back into the little safe haven in the mountains now.

The woman and her strange pack crossed little rivers and through mountain gullies, the high paths and into small yet flourishing forest canals. Sometimes the raptors had to find their own way around, while she took to ropes strung across canyons to get from one platform to another. They came upon ruin after ruin of bygone eras—and some he suspected, times that were well ahead of his. Just how far flung, how removed was he from his home, his friends, the Black Order? Were Exorcists and Innocence even needed in this world? Were the Akuma gone, the Millennium Earl and the Noah gone as well? He continued to ask himself these questions, yet no answer came forth, no heavenly or earthly voice telling him as such.

Was he truly in the future? It certainly almost began to feel like he was. He wanted to reject the notion entirely. The very idea would have felt absurd, if not for the damning evidence that kept smacking him in the face with every new scenery he was faced with. Giant metal tubes with long, outstretched wings that were so obviously meant for the skies (the planes from wars past); horseless carriages that were nothing but huge metal rusting shells left to rot and be forgotten (the militant vehicles used to transport troops); weaponry of all ages and eras (bows and arrows, rifles, shotguns, pistols, grenades).

He almost spoke up several times, but the sight of the woman's hunched shoulders, rigid step, and the way the tendons stood out on her neck and back, he thought better of it. She was already pissed at him. Nattering at her about the history of the island beyond the basics was probably the last thing she wanted to discuss with him at the moment.

At least she wasn't clubbing him over the head whilst drunk or angry.

When the thundering of the earth beneath his feet started up, he was almost expecting Carmilla to make her ethereal appearance. Instead, a darkened shape emerged from the shade of the night forest, eyes glittering in what little light there was available to them. Another behemoth of a creature made its appearance, and although this one was not as large as Carmilla, it still cut an imposing silhouette.

The woman and her troupe of raptors paused in the path of the giant, radiating calm in the presence of the monster. She didn't speak, and the raptors had gone all but silent except for the occasional quiet warble as they bobbed their heads like birds. Some spiked up their crests, for those who had them, while the rest merely puffed up their feathers. The giant lowered its head and huffed air through its slits for nostrils, leaning its dagger-like fangs all too close to the woman, but she grabbed hold of that huge mug in a familiar fashion, breathing deep with the monster in her arms. The giant rumbled low and soft, almost akin to a contented purr.

There were no words exchanged. No soft, nonsensical murmurs one would do to a pet; no quiet whispers; nothing. There was just the state of being—a strange not-human woman who had been dead-and-then-not and a creature that should have been dead by millions of years. It was an ironic match, he thought, a slow sense of bemused wonder filling him at the sight. There were no words needed, he realized, as he watched the raptors press closer to add their own presence to the cluster, their own piece to the quiet exchange.

When the giant lifted its head away, the woman released her hold, the raptors backed away, and they parted ways.

The giant passed him and eyed him beadily and with a low-timbered rumble in its chest as it passed. The very earth shuddered beneath its massive weight and he could absolutely _feel_ the pressure of that thing above him. It was like the earth was going to come tumbling down on him in the form of that creature, with nothing but fangs and muscle and hot, musty breath that smelled of decay and rot. It would only take one wrong move to set that massive monster on him and he wasn't keen to give it an excuse to try.

He shuddered at the thought of being crushed by those grinning massive jaws and hurried along. The woman and her raptors were already disappearing into the brush and were nearly out of sight.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

A few days passed. Allen had been, to his surprise and relief, permitted back into the safe little sanctuary the woman had made for herself and he had wisely chosen to keep to his assigned quarters. He didn't want to intrude, not after making an ass of himself down on the beach. She was apparently perfectly capable of getting back up from a wound that would have otherwise left her stiff and putrefying on the ground. He had to wonder just how resilient werewolves really were, but once again, he swallowed his curiosity, keeping to his better judgement. There were times to ask questions, and then there were times to simply not.

Every day, the woman would go back down to the beach, most likely in an attempt to repair the damaged boat engine. Some days, she returned unscathed. Others, she'd return with bloodstains and torn clothes, and she'd smell of gunpowder and soot. It was a heady aroma he was beginning to grow used to all over again. All of those days, she said nothing to him.

Not a word.

It was as though he didn't exist.

She fed and watered him, of course. She also gave him time to clean himself when he wanted to bathe in the washroom chamber of the cave network.

Other than those fleetingly bare minimum necessities that came with being a living being, she ignored him entirely. He wondered if it was still connected with his ill attempt at rousing her to stay on the beach so she could recover, or if she truly and well had forgotten he existed when he didn't need anything. He missed Timcanpy sorely. Even the golem was better company than Clover was.

The woman returned once more that night, a week after the incident. She was whole and unbloodied this time, although she was covered in engine grease. When she returned, she did the same as she always did: opened the door with as little fanfare as possible and secured it for the night, carrying two deer carcasses on a makeshift sled behind her as she trudged further inside. The campfire was ongoing full-time, now that he was there to maintain it. He found little else to do during the day, other than to wander the immediate set of caves, and perhaps the immediate area outside. There wasn't much else to do, and he wasn't ready to set out and begin roaming the island. He'd get hopelessly lost in a heartbeat and then he'd be well and truly on his own.

It wasn't that he couldn't survive, but he wasn't keen on learning all the rules the hard way if he could help it.

He started forward out of habit to help the woman, but his flicker of movement was enough to attract her attention. Her head whipped in his direction and she pinned him with a stare that sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. It was as though she was consciously trying to remind him, ' _Make no mistake, I'm not human, don't even think I am_ '.

She turned away when he remained rooted to his spot, satisfied by his inaction. He skirted around her as she moved toward the campfire. Clover appeared with a shriek from her chambers, darting forward to claim one of the deer carcasses for her own. She promptly latched onto the antlers of the poor thing and dragged its limp body across the cave floor without ceremony, disappearing from sight. Allen resulted to pretending he hadn't seen and sat himself at one of the logs surrounding the campfire. The woman set to her work, methodical in her movements.

He found he could bear watching for a time before it grew too gruesome for his tastes. He turned to watching the fire and occasionally feeding it when it began burning to low. The next time he looked up, she was nearing completion and had fetched the spit, skewing meat on the metal rod. He quietly helped position it over the flames. She paused when it was in place to look at him. The fire's glow had her face alighted with a strangely flattering expression of bemusement. Even the scar across her face softened until he could barely tell it was there.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I hadn't realized I was offending you. I'll admit, I don't know much about werewolves, and that they can apparently walk off from being shot in the head. It was a bit of a shock to see you…" He swallowed past the hard, painful lump in his throat. He remembered how limp she had turned as soon as she bullet hit her brain, how suddenly she dropped. How she was gone. "It was hard seeing you lying there, not—not moving. And then you were up again, but you weren't quite right just yet. I thought staying put until you recovered was best, although it was almost pointless, looking back on it. You recovered almost immediately."

She stared at him for a spell longer, her mismatched eyes betraying nothing. Then, she moved away and toward her chambers without a word. He opened his mouth, a protest on his lips and maybe another apology, but she was back again before he knew it, carrying a leather bound book in hand.

She pushed it into his hands and he fumbled, but latched on quickly with a sudden death grip. She poked it a few times, keeping her eyes trained on him.

"Here there be monsters," she said sotto voce. She gave the book a final, resounding tap. She turned away, returning to finish cleaning the deer carcass. Allen stared, boggled for quite some time before the idea to look down popped into his head.

He turned the book over in his heads, running a hand over the worn cover. He opened it and fell upon a random page. He was startled by the one he fell upon, a slightly messy but nonetheless detail sketch of a roaring wolf, its maw gaping and eyes filled with rage. The details began sinking in and he could see an almost humanness in its design—upright on hind legs, large pawed hands, barrel-chested. It wasn't a wolf rearing up, it was a wolf with corresponding humanoid anatomy. Werewolf. Is this what they looked like? When he thought of what they would look like, he thought of actual wolves, but bigger.

Slowly, he flipped to the next pages, finding text. He skimmed the words, turned a page. Another monster sketch, this one pale and gaunt and stretched so thin and its limbs so long, it looked worse than starved. Bulging, milky white eyes glowered at the viewer, a mouth hinged open to reveal sharpened fangs like needles lining the gums, looking ready to rip into an unsuspecting victim. At the top, in hastily done scrawl, the word 'Wendigo' was written. The next page detailed its information such as appearance, abilities, the dangers of facing it alone or without weapons and what kind of weapons were effective against it.

He turned the page, and continued like this for quite some time.

Heartless; creatures that manifested in the darkness of a being's heart, drowning the light within and extrapolating on the evils of the world.

Nobodies; the empty shells left behind when a Heartless was born, but that didn't make them any less dangerous to face.

Yautja; humanoid alien being that prided itself on being the ultimate predator, the ultimate hunter that stalked and killed unsuspecting victims with its advanced alien technology and impressive hunting skill set. They could render themselves virtually invisible to the naked eye, and were highly intuitive, intelligent and hostile aliens when engaged in combat. Will not attack if opponent is unarmed…most of the time.

Xenomorph; incredibly hostile parasitic alien lifeforms that went through a gruesome life cycle that killed their host. They infested planets at incredible turnover rates. They had highly pressurized bodies and incredibly acidic blood. Yautja apparently liked to hunt Xenomorph at times. Their larval stage could infect any available host, and their adult stages would differ if it inhabited differing species.

Titans; non-sentient humanoid giants that could regenerate lost limbs or heads if not struck in the correct place (the nape of the neck), and they preyed upon humans exclusively. They were not kind to those they ate, who were sometimes alive, other times crushed between teeth or torn apart.

Cordyceps Brain Infection; originally an infection exclusive to insects and arthropods, a new strain emerged that could infect humans. Individuals infected with this fungal affliction would turn within a matter of hours, exhibiting aggressive behaviors that would lead to spreading the infection via biting or fluid transfer, although inhaling spores were also a worrying factor. Currently there are four stages of CBI hosts in the forms of Runners, Clickers, Stalkers, and Bloaters. " _ **I CANNOT BE INFECTED! IMMUNE!**_ " was written in heavy, bolded letters at the bottom of the page, and heavy lines were scratched beneath the words.

Allen read on, staring at the detailed sketches as he went. Some were of supernatural origins (such as the werewolf and vampire entries) and he recognized them, if only by common namesake. Most, he didn't know what to make of, nor did he recognize. The one thing he was quite certain of was that the woman hadn't encountered any Akuma, the Millennium Earl, the Noah, or Innocence before. He truly was the first. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. But how had he gotten here, and why was he here? So many questions, yet he couldn't breathe a single one out because he already knew the answer.

He didn't know. And neither did the woman.

Allen closed the book when he had exhausted all the material within, his head swimming. There were plenty of empty pages in the book in the back, but he was safely assuming that they were left for the new horrors that would come to this place. Himiko, the Solarii, and the Oni each had received their own pages in it, near the front. It seemed only fitting.

"Did all those things come to this place, before me?"

The woman was pulling slabs of meat off the spit and onto a large platter. The fire crackled as grease fell onto it. In return, the flames rose higher to lick at the meat, making it sizzle. She nodded at his inquiry.

"And…the dinosaurs. They're not natives."

Another nod.

"Then…how? How is this place…existing?"

"I don't know. I know the Solarii were here before I was. The Oni and Himiko, as well, by default. But everything else…it's…" She looked away, her eyes distant in her thoughts. A slow light began to creep up in them, as though a revelation was dawning upon her. "They show up one day, without warning. There are always others as well. People I rescue, but not always from the Solarii or the Oni. Sometimes those monsters arrive in the same way that my charges do. They don't crash land or become shipwrecked when they arrive, they're just…here. I'm not sure how. But whatever allows them to leave this island, is the same force that keeps me trapped."

A forlorn, reproachful look adorned her features and she scowled. "The engine is completely fucked, by the way. They shot it all to hell. I tried salvaging and repairing what I could, but nothing I've done is working. And the parts I'd need to replace don't exist on this island. Even on the ships that are all around this place, they wouldn't have it." A beat skipped past them, her brows drawing up close to pinch together. "I can build you a raft. It'd take you longer to get out of range, but it'd be better than nothing at all. Or, I could reset the place."

"Reset," he repeated, perturbed. She glanced at him, her hands beginning to work on autopilot once more, cutting up portions of food and doling them out accordingly.

"Reset," she agreed. "I can either swim out or use the raft myself to bring Himiko back. I told you before, I can't leave. I've tried numerous times. Every time I've done that, the storms return. Himiko's corpse is back, the Oni and Solarii I've killed are revived, and I'm tossed back onto the beaches. The boat's engine will be back to its inept self, but at least it wouldn't be complete shit with bullet holes decorating it."

It was a small pocket of hope to look forward to, he reasoned, but the longer he let it mull over in his head, the more troubling it sounded. "That would mean you'd have to kill the Solarii all over again." He saw her nod, and he allowed a beat to pass between them before adding, "And you're sure there isn't a way to negotiate for a temporary peace or truce of any sort?"

She shook her head, then offered a plate of deer meat to him. He took it without thinking and sunk into it. A few bites in, he was still mulling over everything. He wiped a dribble of grease from the corner of his mouth and frowned at her.

"Then don't reset the island."

He said it louder than he intended, but at least it was clear in the chamber. His voice echoed ever so slightly, bouncing off the cavernous walls around them. The woman stopped chewing altogether, staring at him with her cheeks slightly puffed up with the food in her mouth. It mitigated her intimidating nature by a small fraction, at the very least, and he had her attention.

"As much as I'd like to get back to my friends…"

 _(I really do, they must be so worried, all of them—)_

"You've done more than enough for me to deserve at least a small chance of getting off yourself, and I want to help."

 _(The others would have done the same, I know they would have—)_

He stopped altogether, unsure of where to continue. She hadn't said a word, not even to interrupt. Those mismatched eyes of hers remained glued to him and they were absolutely unnerving because she wouldn't blink. He began to chafe under her gaze and almost sighed in relief when she looked away, contemplating his words, he hoped.

"You're an idiot," she said at last. He felt his face and ears redden, flushing from anger and embarrassment, but his second wind died as she continued when he opened his mouth to argue. "You have no idea how long you'll be here, and I'm assuming you don't want me to reset because you'd rather I don't kill those bastards all over again. You could end up being here for a decade, and you're going to throw those years away just to see what we can try out and simply just redo things I've already done to get out of here? You're mad."

"Maybe," he agreed with a small smile. Then a thought occurred to him. "How many have you rescued?"

She blinked, taken aback. He cleared his throat and clarified, "How many people have you rescued from this island? How many survivors that either become shipwrecked or simply appear? I doubt you've forgotten that, even if you've chosen not to remember anything else."

The woman fell silent, contemplating his inquiry. When she answered, she ducked her gaze, finding more interest in her hands. "Dozens."

"How many promise to help you? Or elect to stay behind until you all can be rescued?"

Her silence stretched on longer this time. She may have claimed to be older than she looked—perhaps a few hundred years, if that's what she was insinuating—but now she almost appeared vulnerable, like a lost child. Younger than he's noticed before.

"Almost all of them. The…words blend together after a while. So do the faces. But, ah…they all promise the same thing. They'll come back. They'll send someone to get me. They'll stay, but in the end they chose to go."

"Have any fought you to stay behind?"

She snorted. "They don't stay long enough to argue. They don't stay long, period. Three days, max, if I can help it. I want them off. I don't like them lingering around like you are. Troublemaker."

He beamed at that, and judging from the very brief quirk of her lips, she was poking fun at him in earnest without the barbs attached to her words. The humour died from her in an instant.

"I don't like the idea of keeping you here. Don't you have others waiting for you? Family or friends, that sort of thing?"

Allen's face fell at the reminder and he nodded. "My family—they're dead. And my friends…" He hesitated. They had been given a much needed reprieve after the events on Japan's mainland, when the Ark had nearly disappeared in lieu of the Millennium Earl's creation of the new one. So much had happened, but even in the midst of his impromptu breather, he hadn't taken the time to really sort through it all. He didn't want to admit what he was beginning to suspect to be the truth. That they were long dead, just like his father. That he couldn't go to be with them, even if he wanted. Everything had changed. He didn't quite know if she would understand. He focused on the idea of what they would think if they were still alive. "They'll understand if I'm trying to help someone else."

Her eyes never left him. They studied his face and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Was she considering his words, his offer to stay?

She lapsed into silence after that, and nothing he could say further coaxed another word out of her. When he finally felt like he had effectively been cut off from whatever world was going on in her head, he excused himself and retreated into the makeshift bedroom he's occupied for the last week. It took him a while to fall asleep and during his tossing and turning, he could barely hear the woman scuffling about, although he once or twice heard Clover take his place in the main chamber. The soft purrs of the raptor were the last thing he remembered hearing before drifting to sleep.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	4. Chapter Four: Overcome

**Chapter Four:  
Overcome**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _The monument of a memory  
You tear it down in your head  
Don't make the mountain your enemy  
Get out, get up there instead  
You saw the stars out in front of you  
Too tempting not to touch  
But even though it shocked you  
Something's electric in your blood_ _ **  
**_ **-Florence + The Machine, "** _ **Various Storms & Saints**_ **"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The days began to bleed into one another.

It soon became clear, without it being said aloud, that he had been allowed to stay. The woman didn't force the issue, nor did she bring it up. In the end, neither did he.

The island wasn't all that large—although it was larger than he had originally anticipated—but the diversity in its geography was stunning, to say the least. The mountains were filled with cubby hole-caves, secret passages and hidden shrines, gaping canyons and arroyos, compressed little forests, high mountain cliffs, and there was a mixture of so many eras of so many cultures clashing everywhere, he wasn't sure what belonged to whom. Galleon sailing ships, aged oil and transport tanker ships, schooners and yachts, smashed lifeboats, cargo ships, sunken military PT boats, grounded planes of all sizes…

He was both horrified and elated to find that the concrete and steel bunkers that littered the island were from World War II. It had started in 1939 and ended in 1945, he had been told. The woman assured him that she had most likely been born almost forty years after that fact, although what year it was now, she couldn't tell him because she simply didn't know, couldn't remember. She kept track of the seasons, but they bled together so much, she's lost track of how many years it's really been for her.

 _So I really am in the future. This island is like a cursed lost relic, attracting other lost relics and hoarding them away, pieces of every era, decade after decade._

Even if he somehow made it back to Europe, back to the last known location of the branch of the Black Order he had been a part of, he doubted it would be there. For all he knew, the Black Order was gone. Chapters and organizations within the Church always seemed to be opening and closing at the Vatican's whim. The Black Order had been created solely for the Secret War, for defeating the Akuma and their nefarious masters. If they were truly well and gone, what use were those in the Black Order to the Church? If the world was still here and intact, if the woman's estimated birth year could be believed—then the Millennium Earl and the Noah were most likely gone. Defeated. And his friends have long since been dead and gone as well.

The thought made his heart sink.

 _We won, but…how?_

So many questions about everything back home kept cropping up, leaving him in doubt about his choice, but if this was the future, then…

He had no place left to go to. No home, no friends, no employment. Not even Timcanpy was with him.

His heart sank further and further until it felt like it had nowhere else to go the more he thought on it. It also made him feel sad for the woman as well.

 _I wonder if this is how she feels, all the time. Anyone she must have known, they're gone too. But she outlived them. She didn't just jump through the years. She had to live with that knowledge. Live with knowing that she wouldn't see them again as the years passed. Maybe she forgot most of everything on purpose._

His mood must have shown through over the next few days after these revelations crossed his mind. He didn't pay much attention to, well, anything. He was stuck in his own thoughts, his own misery that he hadn't noticed the time passing him by. On what he guessed to be the second or third day, the woman dragged him outside of the cave by the arm—she was much stronger than she looked—and tossed him on his backside.

"Stop with the pissy feel-sorry-for-me routine. If you're so worried and upset about things back home, then just say the word. I'll reset the island or build you a raft to send you on your way."

The baldness of the way she glowered at him had him too shocked to answer at first. He gaped like a fish, opening and closing his mouth several times. It was a kind of blow he hadn't been prepared for. His throat and tongue were cotton dry and not complying with the way he wanted to answer. She scowled and turned on her heel without probing any further, intent on taking herself back into the hidden cave. Allen scrambled to his feet and lurched forward, snatching up her arm with a cry of protest on his lips.

She immediately jerked out of his grip with such force, he was almost certain she'd taken his fingers with her. His hand stung fiercely and he withdrew it quickly enough, dazed at the sudden change in her demeanor. When he caught sight of the thunderous yet aghast look on her face, his pain was briefly forgotten.

"Don't you _ever_ fucking touch me."

She hightailed it away from him as soon as the venomous remark left her lips, retreating into the inner sanctity of her shelter. The metal door slammed shut behind her with such finality, it was almost like the last peal of a funeral dirge. He flinched, clutching his hand close and stared after where she had just been.

He jumped again at the familiar cough-bark he's come to associate with the raptors. A trio stood at the bottom of the canyon path, staring directly at him with their beady avian eyes. The one that stood in the middle looked rather regal with its dusty grey and violet-hued feathers. The raptor hooted softly at first, and then gave a forceful bark and the two flanking it mirrored the call several times. The one left of the middle raptor was dusty gold and sandy browns, while the right-handed one had soft greys and pitch blacks dusting its coat. The noise of their calls carried up and all around Allen, multiplying and amplified as it bounced off the canyon walls. The golden raptor snarled and snapped its jaws menacingly at him.

Then they all fell silent.

The grey and dusty purple one lurched forward, creeping up the path on fleet feet, glittering eyes never leaving him. Coming after him like a shark would, never blinking, never swaying from its intended path. Allen eyed the twin scimitars at their feet, the curved talons that were most definitely not used for decorative purposes.

They didn't even utter a peep as they fell behind the first stalking predator heading his way.

 _Oh, shit. She kicked me out and now they know I'm free game!_

He hurriedly turned tail and went the other way down the path, not bothering to see if the raptors were following him until he was well into the pine forest below.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen was pretty sure the beach was just beyond the shantytown and the abandoned palace grounds. If he could remember where the palace and shantytown were in the first place.

That just translated out ' _pretty sure_ ' really meant ' _not at all_ '.

Lavi would have told him so and laughed. Kanda probably would have called him a stupid beansprout. Not very creative, that one. Miranda would have been just as lost as he was. Lenalee and Arystar would probably be the ones figuring out where they were and find a way down by now. Timcanpy could have found him a path to take by now, too. But he was alone. He had no idea where he was, having gotten so turned around in his attempts to flee the oncoming predators. He was just hoping if he kept walking in one direction, he'd hit the ocean. It was an island, after all. Maybe he could build his own raft. The woman obviously seemed to have a change of heart in letting him stay. He wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore, either.

 _And after all that pomp and circumstance I gave just to stay to try and help her. All for nothing. Just like the rest of them. And nobody is waiting for me, no one is left_ to _wait._

Allen felt lost in more ways than most would. He stopped in his tracks and leaned up against a spindly birch, the thought weighing his feet down like lead weights. He looked at his left hand, stared at the imbedded cross there in the red of his skin.

"Am I really the last one? Everyone's… _gone_."

The Order and everyone in it—everyone who willingly or were forcibly kept to stay with the organization—and even the Akuma and their creators…

They were all gone and he was alone. He was the last one standing, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. There wasn't even a sweetness to savour in knowing that everything was done and over with. He simply felt hollow inside at the idea that he was no longer of use. He had no more obligations in this world, so what else was there? What was left for him in a world that was no longer his own?

The island seemed to stretch on for forever now, and he feared never finding the ocean, even when he could see it glimmering in the distance at times. It was all a mirage, a trick, and he was stuck on this godforsaken spit of land in the middle of nowhere, out of time and out of place. And the only person who had been his tentative ally was no longer his ally. He had no information to go off of and no clue as to what to expect if, _when_ , he got off this island.

His throat burned and pinched up tight, the corners of his eyes stinging and hot.

He sank down to sit and curled up his legs to his chest, not sure if he had cried or fell asleep or both. The next time he lifted his head, it was dark and his head was hurting. Insects and frogs chirruped their nightly orchestra. Other creatures added to the staccato of natural instruments, things he's never quite heard before. When his eyes adjusted a little better, he pulled himself up to his feet, grimacing the way his body protested after sitting in one position for too long.

The good news was, he hadn't been chased or chewed on by the raptors. It dawned on him then that they had probably chasing been him away as a warning. He was more annoyed now than he cared to admit at that.

 _And now I couldn't make my way back even if I wanted. All the mountains look the same. And most of the forests and ruins do too. Especially in the dark._

Nevertheless, he trudged along, carefully picking his way through the thick and tangled vegetation with a stubborn persistence. Occasionally, he'd catch wind of the sound of wings taking off forcefully into the air above him. Other times, things in the dark, too quick and too small for him to catch a glimpse of, would rocket away in the brush, hidden from sight. The night seemed to grow darker as well, and it was only confirmed when the skies rumbled in warning, seconds before water began pouring down on the island. He was soaked in minutes as he scrambled through the dark to find shelter. He discovered a piteous little shack nestled against the face of a mountain, the rise of it sheer and steep. He had to tear the door off when it didn't give in easily with his left hand, ripping at the material to get inside. He shivered, wishing he had found this earlier, although that soon wore off when he found that the roof had a leak in it.

Despite the cold, he tore his jacket off. It wasn't insulating him well enough and it was heavy with rainwater. It made for a miserable blanket. When it made a wet smack against the wooden floorboards, he heard something shriek in protest near the doorway. He squinted, trying to see what had made the sound. Something was skulking close by. A trill sounded off, right at the doorway. Then another, and another and another. He pressed against the wall, squinting into the inky blackness. He could just barely make out tiny little shapes, about the size of a chicken, with long necks and longer tails.

Something leapt up onto his knee. Allen jumped in surprise, feeling the curl of claws digging into him. Another of the tiny-somethings pounced on his stomach and he could feel its breath, tiny pinpricks of air going in and out at rapid fire paces. It was so light, he could barely feel the animal, whatever it was, sitting on top of him. A third tried to scrabble for purchase on his shoulder, but all it managed to do was scrape its claws on him as it lost grip and fell backwards with a high-pitched scream of annoyance and surprise. His arm briefly flared with from the rake-thin scratches, but the cold in the air numbed them fairly quickly.

He lifted his other hand to push the animal off and get up. Obviously, he was trespassing on something's territory. A pack of somethings. They sounded almost like birds, with the way they peeped and hooted but he had a feeling creeping up on him that this wasn't the case.

When his hand brushed the animal, it darted out and bit him hard with needle-sharp teeth. He yelped, tugging his offended digit back, only to feel the animal pursuing his digits with determination, managing to sink its needle-like fangs into the meat of his thumb. Allen leapt up and swatted at the animal, managed to get it off, only to feel more of them—he didn't know how many—leaping up at him from all directions. Some managed to cling to his clothing, biting wherever they could. One got up to his shoulders and latched onto his ear, trying to tear at it. They squealed and hissed and yowled until it was the only thing he could hear. Even the patter of the rain had been drowned out.

The more they attacked, however, the less he felt the impact of their bites. In fact, he could barely feel anything. He wondered, briefly, if it was the cold worming its way into his limbs and down into his core. He could barely hear the constant surge of the rain outside, mingling with the squeaking growls of the animals that were trying to climb and bite him. He swatted halfheartedly at one that was inching its way up his side. It latched onto his arm in response, claws digging into his clothes and flesh.

He collapsed against the wall of the shack, his limbs heavy and his head light and air. He was starting to fade and a small part of his mind was crying out in alarm to get up and run away from these creatures. But his body wouldn't listen and before he knew it, he was drifting off to the distant sound of the rain and the squeak-growl-trills of the animals in the shack.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He awoke with a start, heart hammering away in his chest at a painful tempo. He was on his back, the light of candles dappling a cave ceiling in rusty orange hues and shadowed with greys and blacks—

Allen blinked, having caught his breath as he focused on what was in front of him. Then he bolted upright and immediately regretted it. His head was full of pins and needles and shards of glass for good measure, stabbing at anything and everything they could possibly get their points into in his skull. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly to ride out the pain.

Hands reached for him and he flinched away, eyes flying open.

"Don't—!"

The rest of his words strangled up in his throat when he saw the woman there, withdrawing her hands away from him, looking stern yet…unexpectedly troubled. She waited for him to process, patiently stepping back to give him space. When he calmed and settled back down, she offered him a chipped mug. Inside, liquid sloshed. He took it and tentatively sipped at first, and then gulped down its contents with fervor. Whatever it was, it was hot and sweet and the rush pushed back the ache in his skull and warmed him to the core.

When he was done, he handed it back, grateful for something to quench his parched throat.

"What happened?"

"Compies," she said matter-of-factly at first, before revising with, "Compsognathus. Tiny dinosaurs that hunt in packs."

"I gathered that much." The attack was coming back to him. Tiny animals with vaguely long necks, little bodies, longer tails…and so light. So, so light he barely felt them even when they were standing on top of him. "What the hell happened to me? I remember them biting me and then…and then…"

"You drifted off to sleep. Like what was happening to you was a-okay, that it was all just a dream and you'd wake up soon."

He nodded at her words, because that was _exactly_ how it'd felt like. His limbs had grown heavy, his head so light and his thoughts had been to the wind. He couldn't even hold onto the instinct to run away, it had drifted off so alarmingly quickly, without a fight.

"They were venomous," he concluded.

"Something like that," she agreed. She stooped down, picking up a pitcher by her feet and poured him another drink. He took it and sipped this time. "It's like a combination of a paralytic and anesthesia: it slowly puts you to sleep the more bites you obtain. The more you take on, the quicker it shuts down your nervous system, drops your inhibitions and whatnot, and makes you easy prey. So, you can't feel them eating you, even while you're still alive. It'll all feel like a dream until you breathe your last, but you wouldn't know it."

He recoiled at the thought and his stomach roiled in protest. He blinked, staring around to find that he was back in "his" room. And he was shirtless. Bandaged up in various place along his torso, but shirtless nonetheless. At least he had his pants on. She must have read his expression and saw how his cheeks flushed. When she spoke next, he was put at ease, but only slightly.

"You had a fever and sweat-soaked clothing isn't fun to wake up in. I also just finished replacing some of your bandages; you were bitten all over the place. Your fever just broke last night, so try not to fuck my work up by getting yourself back into it, would you?"

She left the pitcher on a makeshift table beside his bed and turned to go, tail swaying behind her.

"Wait, how did you find me? I thought you kicked me out, didn't care what happened…"

He trailed off at the perplexed look on her face.

"It doesn't matter, does it? You're still breathing. You're not out there anymore."

"But…you were upset. When I grabbed your arm—"

"It's nothing against you personally. I just don't like being touched." She turned and left him in the wake of her silence, the curtain door fluttering back into place.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Don't bring that thing in here!"

She was bringing in something squealing and angry into the cave, holding it by the neck in one hand, whilst her thumb and forefinger were pinched over the animal's head to keep it from biting her. The body was tucked close to her body under her other arm, and her other hand pinned the arms down and legs together to prevent it from kicking or clawing at her. She didn't seem overly concerned about the little whipping tail beating against her side and back as much.

"You need to know what you were bitten by so you don't end making the same mistake again."

"I couldn't even see _what_ it was," he admitted sheepishly, although he took in the little creature's appearance and was rather disappointed. It was tiny, around the size of a chicken just as he approximated. It had no feathers, but it looked like a hardy enough creature, like a featherless bird. It had delicate features, but he knew what those little bastards were capable of now. And the noises it made, those were all too familiar. Very bird like, but at the moment it was snarling and hissing up a storm.

The woman, by comparison, was rather nonchalant. Clover, who was lounging by the dying campfire, shot up to her feet and came trotting over. The woman shooed her away with a few sharp clicks and mimicked cough-barks that could rival any of the raptors. The little creature in her arms squirmed and squealed all the more as the raptor circled, not unlike a shark closing in for the kill. He yelped when the woman finally let the chicken-sized dinosaur loose.

"Git, Clover, leave it be. This isn't your meal, stay away."

"You let it go!"

"Yes, I did."

" _Why_ would you do that?! Those things are venomous!"

"One little guy ain't gonna do ya much harm. Might make you woozy if you take one too many bites, but I'm doubting anyone would be stupid enough to stay still long enough for that many nips to happen." She gave him an expectant look and…was she—did she just _smirk_ at him?

Allen's cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

She shuffled around the shaking creature, herding it slowly toward the campfire and its warmth. All the while, it kept its beady eyes glued on the woman, as well as Clover. It didn't seem to notice him at all. That was just fine. Allen kept to his corner, close to the retreat of his room. He still felt off from his recovery, but he could keep more food down now and he wasn't as woozy on his feet as he was the other day.

"This is a Compsognathus. Alone, they're rather relatively harmless. Their saliva still has traces of venom, so I wouldn't suggest being bit over and over by them, as you no doubt learned." She stooped to shoo the little dinosaur over the way she wanted. It snapped at her fingers with a perturbed warble and hiss. "I would worry more about a Dilophosaurus' venom, however. They're much bigger predators and they can spit their venom in gooey globs and they just _love_ to go for the eyes. Not only will that blind you, but even a single drop on your skin could paralyze you in just a few short minutes. The bigger difference between the venoms is that you'll be alive and awake and in absolute hell when the big bastards decide to eat you, versus the Compies eating you while you slumber and can't feel a thing."

The Compsognathus trotted along on delicate three-toed feet, head bobbing as it moved toward the couch. Already, it had dismissed the woman shadowing its moves, unconcerned by her presence. Clover wasn't too far behind the woman as she tailed the tiny dinosaur. Allen slowly inched from his spot by the chamber wall, drawn out a little more by fascination. It looked like almost like a lizard, what with the scaly hide, and yet it moved like a bird. Although to be fair, he most likely would have mistaken it for a bird, if it had been covered in feathers like Clover was. He sometimes thought the raptors really were just giant birds at some angles. Especially when he couldn't see their recurving teeth.

"How big do the Dilo…di…" He frowned. How had she said that word again?

"Die-law-pho-sore-us," the woman said, enunciating each syllable carefully, patiently even. She repeated it one more time for emphasis, which he was actually grateful for.

"Dilophosaurus," he parroted back slowly, coaxing his tongue over the new word. "How big can they get?"

"They're hard to miss. They grow to about seven meters in length, and they have very distinctive bony double crests on their skulls." She made a motion over her eyes, mimicking an arc going backward over her head, between her twitching ears. "They'll also have some…other features that'll make it look odd."

"Odd how," he ventured cautiously, eyeing her suspiciously.

She held her hands on either side of her head and wiggled her spread out fingers. "They have a membranous frill that presses against their necks when not in use. I've seen them used in threatening displays for territorial domination, but they've also been used for mating rituals. They'll flush more blood into it, and that gives it more vibrancy and life to the look, makes them appear bigger than they really are. They can get aggressive, although they have nothing on the Trikes and the Anklos."

"Trikes and Anklos—more dinosaurs?"

She nodded. He was glad to learn this, so that he had some more information about what inhabited this island. He secretly liked that he was getting the woman to actually _talk_. She rarely did speak unless it was necessary, as he's come to find over the last few weeks he's been here. He was also learning that this subject seemed to be something she was passionate and incredibly knowledgeable about. It didn't hurt to make her seem more approachable, either. There was a light in her eyes he never saw before, a kind of fire that grew brighter the more she talked about the animals on the island.

"Triceratops and Ankylosaurus. I haven't taken you to the northern half of the island yet. There's more open space out there, and the herbivorous animals like to linger where there's room to move and feed." She paused and motioned in the general direction of her personal room. "You've seen the skull, yes?"

He nodded. "The one with the long horns and big bony frill."

"Triceratops. That wasn't even a full-grown adult. The skull belonged to a juvenile. They get much bigger and even more aggressive than anything you've seen. Especially during rutting season. I guarantee it."

He suddenly felt more comfortable around Clover and the venomous little Compsognathus.

Allen listened as the woman continued her trivia, describing in as little words each animal that lived on Yamatai. She assumed they had appeared on the island was near the beginning of her habitation, although she wasn't entirely positive. They've been here as long as she could recall, which didn't seem to be all that long ago. The predators and prey animals alike were incredibly aggressive toward her, until she began learning to communicate with them. Carmilla had been the first she connected with, recognizing an advanced sentience and sapience within the lab-crafted dinosaur. It had been slow and agonizing process of crafting a bond with the Indominus Rex at first, but it matured and strengthened over time. It was Carmilla who helped build the bridge between the woman and the raptors, and then it had extended to Tyrannosaurus Rex, the other giant he had seen a little over a week ago.

He had so many questions, thirsting to know how she had found all this out, but they all flew from his mind when a blood-curdling scream ripped through the chambers. One scream sounded like a dozen in the cave, but only one Clover was bulldogging her way after the one Compsognathus. The little chicken-sized dinosaur screamed in its tinny voice, darting away from the charging Dakotaraptor. It juked and jived away as long as it could, but the larger, faster, and more agile predator overran it, even when the woman tried to interfere. The raptor only smashed her side into the werewolf whilst snapping up the Compy up in her jaws at the same time. The little dinosaur gave one final scream before it cut off suddenly as Clover crushed her jaws over its neck and caved in part of its chest.

Allen shouted in alarm at the suddenness of the attack and how quickly it had ended. The raptor was _fast_. The Compy dangled in her jaws, blood dribbling onto the floor in little droplets. The woman was on her feet in an instant and gave the raptor a sound smack on her neck. Clover dropped her meal and howled, smashing her streamlined skull into the woman, driving her back.

"You little fucking shit—I told you to leave the Compy alone!"

Clover snapped her jaws and kicked with one of her feet out, hard—the very same that housed the large deadly sickle claws. The woman skidded back from the force of the blow, but she didn't look any worse for the wear. Allen dove forward, grabbing the raptor's thick feathered tail to slow her down, only for it to be jerked from his grasp. Clover hissed, craning her head to give him a stare that could curdle milk and made his blood run cold. In his delay, Clover promptly clubbed him in the lip with her thick tail. It dazed him briefly and it was time enough for Clover to gather her stolen meal and retreat into her room, hissing all the while.

"Goddammit…I think she knew I was getting ready to let the little guy go free. But, that's the cons of living with a dangerous predator. They want to eat anything and everything that isn't in their pack. Fucking little shit."

A cough-bark sounded from Clover's room.

"Yeah, I'm talking about you, you fuckhead. I told you not to eat my Compy!"

Clover rebutted with a rattling squeal. The woman rolled her eyes. "Raptors."

The raptor replied with a guttural warble. Allen politely decided not to intervene with the odd and apparently two-way conversation.

"What exactly…did she say?"

"Nothing that can be translated, at least into words. She's laughing at me. Or us, since you tried to help." The woman turned to look at him as she spoke and paused thoughtfully when she finished. She motioned to her lip and then pantomimed to his lip. "You've got red on you."

"And you've got ash on you," he retorted, flippantly motioning to her cheek, but he reached up nonetheless and gingerly probed at his lip where Clover's tail smacked him. Blood was smeared on his fingertips when he pulled them away. He glanced up and saw the woman using her sleeve to wipe away the aforementioned ash.

"First aid kit's on the table over there. Clean yourself up."

"Wait—didn't Clover kick you?" He motioned to her abdomen. He could see where Clover's sickle claw had torn at her clothes, the tears jagged and uneven. Allen promptly decided that yes indeed, he would never want to be on the receiving end of those violent talons. They were meant to tear and stab without mercy or second thought. They weren't naturally honed blades meant to defend, but to kill.

"I'm fine. She clipped you in the lip, and you don't heal as fast."

"Not everyone can afford to be a werewolf," he grumbled, but nonetheless trudged toward the battered coffee table, where a scuffed metal tin marked 'First Aid Kit' sat on it. He popped it open and after a few moments of rummaging, found some ointment to coat the cut and stop the bleeding inside, buried beneath bandages. Before he stepped away into his room, he saw the woman by the campfire. At first, he thought she was staring at the guttering fire, where there was barely any life in it left except in the cooling embers below. The chambers had grown dark, except for the faint glow of candles around them.

Then he saw she was looking at her hands, where her fingers were tipped with sharp claws. She was running her thumb delicately over the tips, while her ears were pressed tightly against her head. She was glowering down at her hands. He had a feeling it was more at them than anything else.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

She held the bow out toward him, watching him behind that unreadable mask he was so used to seeing these days.

He's been on Yamatai for nearly a month.

Today, the woman finally declared he needed to do more than spend time in or around her hideout.

Today, she wanted him to start learning how to use a bow, as he's vehemently shown opposition in touching rifles or pistols. The latter reminded him too much of his late master. He still had mixed feelings about the man. Especially since the last they had seen one another and given the circumstances it had been conducted under. At the very least, however, Allen was safely assuming he no longer had any of Cross's old debts to pay off any longer…

"I don't think I can do this," he mumbled, staring at the carved wood with uncertainty colouring his eyes. She had her own strapped to her back, a quiver of arrows belted to her side. The feathered fletching were all black and white and grey, taken from the crows and gulls that littered the island. She jerked her hand a little that still held the bow and with a sigh, he took it at last, casting a glance downrange. The woman had created a makeshift target range in the pine forest valley. Some of the bullseyes dangled in trees. Others were fastened to the trunks themselves. They were small and painted colourfully, so he could spot them easily amongst the foliage.

A larger target then the others sat on a stand, the range cleared of any obstacles that might have impeded him.

She told him to where to stand and how to stand, and after a moment, told him to shed his coat. He was slow in doing so. It was the last thing he had left of the Order, and the memories he had of his friends. The woman tossed it onto a low-hanging branch of a tree close by, then shed her own coat. Underneath, she had a long-sleeved, form fitting top. Leather bracers lined her arms over those. She mostly seemed to favour wearing layers, so he never really realized how thin she really was; and he could tell already that she was probably very lean with muscles underneath.

She had earned a hard living on this equally hardy island.

He realized he was staring and looked away until she barked at him to watch. She took a position, her feet poised shoulder-width apart and brought her bow off its holster and up. Her left hand gripped the wood firmly, her arm level with her shoulder whilst her right hand drew back with an arrow nocked. He was facing toward her back and he could see she wasn't struggling at all; her muscles were taut but relaxed as she held position. It made it easier to see the steadiness of her position and poise with her hair pulled back and out of the way.

"Come around and see where the arrow is, how I'm holding the bowstring."

He did as he was bid, circling to see she had her index and middle finger curved around the bowstring, looking just a shy half-inch away from releasing the arrow. She had the fletching kissing her cheek, right next to the corner of her mouth and no further. She breathed evenly, still showing no struggle in holding her position. He wondered just how hard it would be to hold like that.

"Now watch downrange."

He looked. The whisper of the string being released was his only clue that she had shot before something whizzed downrange and impaled itself dead center into the target. Another hiss of bowstring alerted him that she had shot again. He didn't see anything at first, but the wild dangling of the other targets alerted him to look elsewhere. Three of the dangling targets were spinning rapidly, each with an arrow in its center. Three arrows. She'd shot _three at once_. He gaped at her, earnestly impressed.

She didn't share in the enthusiasm. "The Solarii are no longer an issue. You don't have to worry about shooting someone or risk being shot at. But you do need to start helping to hunt for food, especially if I'm not always around to assist. It's best to use this if you're hunting deer or rabbit, but I wouldn't suggest going after any Paras or Trikes just yet. You're not at that level. Think you can stomach that idea?"

His smile fell and he thought about that.

She only gave him a few moments to mull it over, but in the end, she clucked her tongue and motioned to him. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, we should focus on how you stand. Get in position."

Allen stared at her, taken aback. He jumped when she barked at him a second time to get into position. He did as she bade, mimicking the way she had stood. He lingered on the way the bow felt in his hands. It was an alien, spindly thing and something he didn't quite feel comfortable with. It wasn't like his Crown Clown, something he could wield as easily as he breathed. That was second nature to him, whether it took the form of his arm and bladed fingers, or the great sword. He could wield either with immense efficiency, although he doubted either would be best suited for getting food.

He pulled back on the bowstring all the same, and almost immediately hit a point where he actually struggled. He muscled it back even when it meant wobbling all over the place, right where his cheek was. He felt a little awkward without an arrow nocked into place, though.

The woman clucked at him again, assessing him with her mismatched eyes. She tapped his elbow down that was pulled back behind his head, lowered his other hand holding the bow with another small tap, then smacked at his feet with a pawed foot. She made another small series of corrections, mostly posture-related and the contact was less than a split second each. Some were repeated until he was corrected. She didn't tell him to stop holding his position, so he stayed where he was, even as his muscles began to slowly burn from the sustainment. He could hear the bow creaking with tension and the string cut into the crease of his knuckles.

"Drop position," she finally stated, circling back around to stand beside him. He lowered his arms and the bow in quiet relief, glad for the respite. She handed him an arrow from her quiver.

"Remember that burn in your muscles. Commit it to memory. That should be how it feels when you're pulling the bow back, every time. The pain will eventually fade, but the feeling of how it should be done should remain. Nock the arrow back. Don't release until I tell you to."

He obeyed, struggling to first keep the arrow shaft pressed flush against the bow, and then again halfway through pulling the bowstring back. He kept the fletching where he thought it was in the right place, until the woman began making her corrections all over again. There were fewer taps this time, he was glad of that. She circled back around, standing off to his side, studying him.

"Loose."

He let his fingers go straight, releasing the bowstring. The arrow bounced away instead of flying through the air like hers had and promptly fell to the ground. He scowled and stooped to pick it up as the bowstring thrummed. It almost sounded like the damned thing was laughing at him for messing up so spectacularly.

"Again."

He tried again, bottling his annoyance down. The arrow left this time, but it fell pathetically short of the target, landing limply about two meters from them. The woman strolled downrange, plucked the arrow up and inspected it as she came back. She handed it back when she deemed it fit for flying.

"Again."

He did.

The arrow flew barely any further the second time around, but it was closer to the target, sitting a measly eight meters away from where they stood. She didn't retrieve this arrow. Instead, she handed him another from her quiver.

"Take your time. Steady your breathing. Every time you breathe in or out, you're affecting your shots. Slow and steady. Don't hold your breath for too long if you feel you need to hold it. A single twitch can be the difference between a bullseye and the outer ring."

She took her own bow out and demonstrated again: steady posture and frame, pulling back the bowstring with practiced ease, the arrow sliding almost soundlessly into place, and the fletching just barely kissed her cheek before she let it fly. It whistled quietly as it left while the bowstring thrummed, this time humming at a pleased frequency. The arrow downrange in the center of the bullseye let out an outstanding split-second shriek as her second arrow split it down the middle and sank deep into the target.

When she turned back to him, she nodded. "Again."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Everything ached for the following two weeks, but it felt good to put himself to actual use, to keep his mind preoccupied. If he was going to commit to the idea of staying on this island until he could help the woman off of it, then he at the very least could get in the mindset. That meant putting up with her morally questionable routines of training—although to date, he still considered his late mentor's methods worse, by far.

But committing to the idea of staying also meant having to deal with the isolation and once it truly began to settle in, when he actually paused to think about it, it was often times crushing. Even he could see that the isolation the woman put herself through was nothing short of insane, especially if she has been alive for decades. The only contact she seemed to have with people were the Solarii (whom she killed on sight), the predators of the island (several of whom she could somewhat talk to but probably didn't always), the prey animals of the island (whom she killed but mostly for food), and of course the occasional innocent shipwreck victim (whom she sent away as soon as it was safe and she was able).

She wasn't very socially inclined, was rather snappish and had an inclination toward mood whiplash, was mostly awkward in terms of social niceties, and could be a bit…standoffish. All in all, her people skills were rather rusty. But she also had her softer moments that made it worth weathering out for. She could have let him die or left him stranded in the wilderness on numerous occasions, but at every opportunity she managed to keep him breathing instead of turning a blind eye. She gave him shelter, kept him fed and watered and gave him his freedom without many restrictions.

He was also positive that he quite possibly was the first to willingly volunteer to stay behind with her, instead of trying to find a way off for himself. She didn't seem to know what to make of that or how to respond. She was used to a routine, and everyone before him had followed it to the letter, even if they weren't aware of it.

She was now forced to work around that. She had to drop whatever routine she was so used to, and adjust to the fact that she had another living being within her vicinity that wasn't trying to kill her or wasn't a dinosaur. She had to make a new routine. All in all, she wasn't the perfect partner in all of this, but seemed resigned to the idea of another person being so close at hand and has mellowed rather significantly.

It was probably good for her. Or so he hoped. He almost believed it was good for himself as well, especially since he had nothing left for him waiting back in Europe, or anywhere else in the world for that matter. He had nothing and no one to go back to. He had no way of knowing what had happened to everyone. A part of him was scared to leave and find out. Another part of him reasoned that if people were still crashing onto this island, that the Millennium Earl and the Noah had been defeated, that the world was safe. No more Akuma. He wondered many things, including whether the souls that made up the Akuma had been freed from their mechanical prisons.

Most of all, he wondered how everyone's lives turned out once the Secret War had ended. Were they happy in the end? Was Lenalee allowed to go free with Komui, now that she had no obligation to the Black Order? And Lavi—where would he and Bookman have gone after, since there was no longer a Secret War to record? Did they find another hidden gem of a conflict in the world somewhere? He wondered about all the others too, even if it seemed too little, too late, considering where and when he was.

So many thoughts swam in his head late at night when he lay awake, even when he thought he had none left after an exhausting day. He had devoted himself to saving the souls trapped in the Akuma and mankind, but what was he now, if he hadn't been there to the bitter end with his fellow Exorcists?

 _The last Exorcist and not even in my own time period,_ he thought forlornly as he stared at his hand outstretched up toward the ceiling while lying in his bed. He had a lingering suspicion that the woman knew he was out of his own time. She said nothing about it however, and so neither did he. It was some kind of mutual quiet agreement. Don't ask, don't tell.

Allen's gaze drifted toward the cross imbedded in the back of his hand. It glinted in the candlelight, while the red of his skin seemed to absorb it, leaving no trace of its existence. He sighed, dropping his limb and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was going to be yet another long day.

She was taking him to view the herds on the northern half of the island and admittedly, he was a little excited to see more dinosaurs, other than the usual round of predators he's seen since his arrival.

He'd get to see the real giants.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

A storm rolled in on them overnight. A natural one, the woman had reassured him. It delayed them for the time being. The wind kept howling like a mad beast, while the rain slashed at anything with merciless, icy wet tendrils.

"Too dangerous," she declared after staring outside for a time, closing the door behind her. It was the middle of the day, but when Allen had caught a glimpse outside, it was almost as dark as night. "Storm'll be staying for a while. I hope everyone found shelter."

He knew she was referring to Carmilla and Báthory, as well as the raptor pack. Clover has since vacated the caves, her forearm healed and stronger than ever. The first thing she did when the splint and bandages came off was smack the woman in the head with it. It left gashes on her forehead, but Allen saw just how quickly she could heal. The wounds closed up within seconds of receiving them, barely any blood spilt. Clover was promptly kicked out right after the strange exchange of violent affection. He was sort of glad. The raptor was beginning to get on his nerves almost as much as she sort of scared him.

The day was spent inside and for most of the afternoon, the woman had her nose buried in a book. The cover was so faded, he couldn't make out who the author or the title was, but it looked well worn, loved, and often read. He spent most of his time crafting more arrows the way the werewolf had shown him; he kept breaking his during practice and she was growing tired of losing her ammo.

He was determined to show her he was committed.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	5. Chapter Five: Landslide

**Chapter Five:  
Landslide**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _I know you're sad and tired  
You've got nothing left to give  
But you'll find another life to live  
I know you'll get over it_  
 **-Oh Wonder, "** _ **Landslide**_ **"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The storm stayed with them for almost half a week. When it passed, the woman left and went scouting ahead, to see how badly the island had been torn up in its wake.

"Sometimes, there's structural damage to the island. Bridges and trees collapse. Trails are buried under mud and rockslides. Flooding can force unwanted detours. You name it, it's probably happening somewhere."

What she wasn't saying aloud was that she needed to move fast, and she was much faster than him. Not as fast as Lenalee and her Dark Boots, but fast enough that she could easily lose him and not realize it right away. It's already happened once before. She told him that he was lucky Carmilla found him by the time she came back to look for him and not one of the other predators.

She apparently had very limited and tenuous relationships with only a few selected predators on the island. The others didn't seem quite as attached to the werewolf.

He spent most of the days puttering around the caves, digging into the storage and footlockers. He found quite a few board games, like a complete chess set and several board games such as Candyland or Monopoly, and after much digging, he even found an intact deck of cards! He immediately set to playing against himself, trying to figure out new strategies—as well as new ways to cheat. He was the king at cards, honest hands or not, and he would be at his wit's end if he didn't keep his skills honed.

Maybe he could even convince the woman to play a few rounds. She wouldn't know what hit her.

As he shuffled the deck, going through maybe his fifth round of playing himself, the door slammed open and he dropped all them to the floor, startled. They scattered all over the place and he stood, alarmed and tense.

The woman was dragging something into the cave, and it took him only a moment to recognize arms, legs, a body, a face—another person. His heart skipped a beat. Another person! But then he saw the red blooming, spreading, leaving a trail across the cave floor and he hurried over, quickly picking the dragging legs up.

"Couch," she ordered and they quickly shuffled the body over. It was an older gentleman, perhaps in his fifties, dressed in blood and grime-stained slacks and a plain tan button-up shirt. He was clean shaven, although there were traces of stubble beginning to form on his face. Scratches adorned his face, like he had hit something—or the Compies got to him before the woman had. His face was taut and drawn in a pained grimace. Allen moved back, seeing the hasty field bandage around his middle. They were already wet, dark, and sticky with blood.

"First aid kit—the big black bag in the storage room. Go."

The woman's voice was firm but brooked no room for argument. He scattered, coming back only when he had the bag in hand. She yanked it from him as soon as he was close. She had already pulled the man's shirt up, revealing the extent of the damage. A piece of shrapnel was sticking out of his side, and a bandage had been wrapped around it, keeping it from jiggling around and causing further distress.

The werewolf was already ripping the bag open, pulling out a needle and thread, gauze, ointment. She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Grab the moonshine from my room and then I need you to help hold him down when I pull that thing out of him."

He hurried away again, this time to her quarters. The moonshine was perhaps one of very few vices the woman partook in—strong and disgusting homebrewed hard liquor that smelled like it'd burn a hole right through him like acid if he so much as tried a drop. Yet she drank it by the gallons when she was relaxing like it was water, and never seemed to be affected by it. Either she was very good at hiding her drunkenness or she really wasn't affected. He was also unsure of where she kept her still, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know where it was.

Allen hurried back around the couch after handing off the jug. She directed him where to hold the injured man and he did as instructed. She moved over to the middle, grabbing the piece of shrapnel. The man beneath them groaned and whimpered, twitching.

"One…two…six! Hold!"

He pushed down just as the men bucked upward in protest and the woman jerked the metal shrapnel out in one smooth motion. The injured party howled and kicked, sobbing as he begged for them to stop. He tried to push Allen away with renewed vigor when the woman poured some of the moonshine over the wound.

"Keep him still, I don't have any anesthesia, so this is gonna hurt him. See if he'll take a drink. It might calm him some."

She pushed the jug toward him and he wrinkled his nose and the cloying scent, but complied nonetheless, circling to the man's front. The man was barely lucid and coherent, his energy waning quickly but he took a few large gulps of the alcoholic concoction with little protest. It calmed him for a moment, just long enough for the woman to get started.

"Keep him awake," the woman's voice cut through the strained silence after a few minutes. "Don't let him sleep. Get him talking."

She was calm as she spoke, her voice level and soft yet it still held that firmness to its foundation. He turned to face the injured man, gently shaking him. Bleary, glazed eyes popped open, laboriously slow and dull-witted from the blood loss. There was so much of it, he wasn't sure how the man was still alive. He tried to not look at the blood, ignored the feel of the hot liquid soaking into his arm as he reached over to shake the man awake again.

"Hey, hey, you need to stay awake—come on, now. Can you tell me your name?"

The man's lips moved wordlessly. He was losing fight in his limbs now, barely able to lift them, let alone push Allen away.

"Hey, wake up! You need to wake up, don't go back to sleep!" He passed a terrified glance over at the woman kneeling beside him as she worked. "How did this happen?"

"Shipwreck during the storm. He must have gotten slammed into something before washing up on the shore," she replied, once more keeping her voice clam and level. He understood what she was trying to do now. He turned back to face the nameless man, surprised to see him openly weeping.

"My…family, where are they? My…my wife…she was with me. I need to see Celia, where is she?"

Allen's gaze skittered toward the werewolf again, but she had that mask up again, unreadable and impregnable to determine what she was thinking. Her hands were simply the only thing she worried about, tying up flesh whilst trying not to lose her impromptu patient. She must have felt his gaze on her, however, because she finally answered, "I'm sorry. I didn't see anyone else. They're gone."

"They might not be!" Allen whipped his attention back to the man, but he could only see a pale, crying man losing hope. "No, no, she—she's mistaken, she might not have seen them where she found you, but they could be somewhere else—they could be alive! There's more than one beach on this island, I've seen them!"

How could she be so calloused towards a man barely clinging to life as it was? He was distressed; he needed hope!

"Keep him talking," was all she said when she caught him alternating between looking at the man and her.

She worked to make every stitch count and the minutes crawled by. Allen didn't know when he grabbed hold of the dying man's hand, but he had and he held on, trying to get him to talk about anything, everything. Allen couldn't tell if the man was crying about the loss of his family or the pain he had to endure or if it was a combination of both.

Nearly twenty agonizing minutes passed. The blood never seemed to stop flowing and he was horrified to see just how much a human body could contain and how much could come out and spread. The couch was ruined beyond salvage, but neither of them thought about that. When the woman pushed herself to her feet and moved away, Allen was knocked from his stupor. He was still holding the man's hand, but it felt _wrong_ , like it was a hunk of wood. It didn't occur to him at first, but then it clicked seconds later after staring at the lifeless, open eyes for nearly a half-minute. Only then did he extricate himself and stumble away, shuddering and his stomach roiling. The man was dead.

He had died a pointless, stupid death. Even when he had help, he couldn't be saved, not in time.

The woman was dry heaving out by the door. He stared, dazed at the sight before he glanced down at himself and thought, _I'm covered in blood._

The thought was so surreal and distant, it might as well have been somebody else in his clothes, in his shoes, his body. He looked back at the man, limp and sprawled over the couch, his shirt riding up to expose the wound in his side. It had been completely stitched up, but it was too little too late.

The shrapnel lay on the table, an innocuous enough object. It was a small metal tubing, and thin too. It looked like a piece of old pipe. One end was saturated with blood and bits of gore. It didn't even look big enough to be a threat, and yet it had done so much damage.

He stumbled away from the sight, feeling sick and wanting to distance himself from the sight, the smell, the very thought of this pointless death. How many deaths had this island claimed with something so small and simple as a piece of pipe?

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They didn't bury the man, like he thought they would do. Instead, they built a funeral pyre for him, down by the cliffs and away from the forest valley below. The raptors watched from a distance as they worked, eyeing the body greedily. He assumed they were just waiting for an opportunity to scavenge the body for themselves. Thankfully that didn't happen. They held a margin of respect for the woman and therefore a distance—or so he hoped that was the case.

He worried the wood wouldn't burn. It was still damp from the storm that had passed through. But, just as he was about to cast his doubts out, the woman had tossed the torch she brought out onto the pyre and it leapt to work, the flames crackling and spitting away, stubbornly working at the damp wood. It didn't take them long to start consuming the body lying on the wood and soon the air filled with the scent of roasting meat and pine sap and wet wood.

They stood side by side for a long while, watching as the fire grew so hot, so bright, so high, that he could barely see the food it so readily ate beneath it. The smell of burning pine sap began to overwhelm the scent of cooked flesh.

"Did he tell you his name?"

She was looking at him, face awash in the light of the flames. Her eyes looked more yellow than anything. It took him a moment to recollect if the man had told him anything, but he shook his head.

"No. He could barely talk to me. I don't think he was coherent enough after you started to stitch him up."

"I didn't find anything on him, either. No wallet, no passport. It must have all been on his ship when it sank." she said quietly. "I was too late. If I had gone out sooner…"

Her voice fell flat and short, cut off so suddenly. Her jaw clacked shut and was clenched so tightly, he saw the tendons and muscles in her neck standing out clearer than before. Her eyes looked moist and he reached over, hesitated, then thought better and dropped his hand. He was startled when he felt something pulling at his fingers and he glanced down to see her pinky hooking itself around his. He looked back at her in surprise, but her gaze remained locked on the pyre.

"Is it stupid of me to cry for a stranger? Especially when I didn't know their name?"

He didn't hesitate when he said, "No. If he had no one else he knew to do it, then someone who was there has to. It only seems right that someone mourns for him. Even if they were strangers to each other."

Allen carefully moved a little closer, lacing his other fingers through hers. She squeezed his hand in return, hesitant and surprisingly gentle. They stood there in silence for a time, watching the fire twist and snake its way into the air as it glowed and listened to the wood while it cracked under the duress of the flames.

He didn't say anything, but he could see her crying from the corner of his eye.

"He looked like a Robert," the woman said after a while. He flicked his gaze toward her, more than a little surprised at her comment. She caught him staring and he swore he saw a ghost of a sad smile quirk her lips. "Or maybe he was a Bob."

Allen didn't quite know what to say to that. He looked back toward the fire. Dusk was coming, ushering in another night. He could hear the crooning of unseen animals in the distance.

"I still don't know what to call you," he settled on.

"I told you from day one, it doesn't matter. Call me whatever you like."

He wasn't satisfied with that answer. He couldn't keep swallowing his tongue whenever he went to call out to her. It just didn't seem appropriate and it was more than embarrassing that he hadn't even thought of anything at all in the time he's spent here. Allen glanced down, seeing that she hadn't let go of his hand. He could see she had a tattoo on the back of it, but it was…no, no it wasn't faded. It was under a layer of soot and ash. She was always mucking with the campfires back at the cave. He's seen her dip her hands right into the fire when she thought he wasn't looking. He surmised she was fireproof, as it didn't seem to affect her. He couldn't see any easy way of bringing it up. But it wasn't the strangest thing he's seen in his life, that much was certain. He figured the way she hid it however, it was a subject she wasn't comfortable sharing with him quite yet.

He realized he was staring at the tattoo and had wiped most of the grime off of it. He could make out a four-leafed clover, and in its center was a bold number thirteen. He flicked his eyes up back at the woman.

"Ash," he said after a moment. She looked over at him, a brow quirking up in quiet response. "Is that okay for me to call you by? It's just that you're always covered in it. And it's the only thing I can think of at the moment."

She kept her eyes on him, studying him with a scrutiny that reminded him too much of the raptors. He almost missed the faintly tipping of her lips into a crooked smile. She turned to look back at the fire.

"Call me what you want. I told you that from day one, didn't I?"

He was relatively dissatisfied by her answer for a few minutes before it dawned on him that she was approving of his choice. There was a warmth in her voice now that had been absent the first day she had told him that very remark.

The fire was still blazing, red-hot and roaring. The sky was turning bruised as the sun slowly made its descent in the western horizon. The raptors were gone, but he could still hear them, cough-barking and hissing in the distance. A bellow from the pine forest valley below trumpeted away, drowning out their voices momentarily. Allen shivered at the mere primal rage in the noise alone. When the echoes settled and the only thing left to hear was the wind and the fire, he breathed deep, smelling only pine sap and wood smoke.

"It's nice to meet you, Ash."

From the corner of his eye, he could see that faint smile on her lips.

"Same to you, Allen."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"They're huge!"

' _Huge_ ' was an understatement. He's faced monstrous Akuma capable of twisting their shapes and growing to monolithic proportions, but they were unnatural creatures made from an equally unnatural element. These creatures, these dinosaurs, were more or less all-natural, grown animals that had once roamed for millions of years on this planet. They were a successful breed of creature that had been around for longer than humans could ever dream of—they were the epitome of nature's ultimate survivor.

At least, those were Ash's words.

He found that anything invoking religion, God, or other subjects relating to such matters were immediately met with sour looks, scornful remarks, and a generally pissy attitude about it all. He wisely learned to keep quiet on all matters pertaining to the subject relatively quickly. Anything dinosaur-related on the other hand, were generally welcomed with open arms, so to speak.

"Over there—the one with the pompadour head, the long tubing—that's a Parasaurolophus. Herbivorous, all they do is eat plants all the live-long day. They're a part of the, ah, hadrosaur family. Or for better clarification, the duck-billed family. See why it's named that?"

He followed her pointing finger to view a cluster of the large herbivores with the long crested horns on the backs of their skulls. One pushed up onto its large and powerful hind legs as it leaned on a tree, eager to nip down as much greenery in the branches as it could. He nodded.

"Their mouths—they look like duck bills," he concluded. She smiled appraisingly at him and it felt more genuine than her usual thin, tight-lipped ones.

She motioned to another cluster of dinosaurs, these ones a little more drab in their colouration, as well as their headgear. Its crest was a single arc down the center of its skull, giving it an almost fan-like design. It's only spot of colour was the bright blue spot in its center of the crest.

"Corythosaurus, another hadrosaur. And those little guys, close by their herd, the one with the Friar Tuck head piece, all bald and whatnot…those are more aggressive and attack-happy. At least the big'uns will run away from you with all the intelligence of a stampeding herd…most of the time anyway. Those bald-headed bastards, though…they'll run toward you, run you down, and keep on smashing into you even after you've hit the ground."

She shifted her weight, leaning a little closer to him as she spoke softly. "They're called Pachycephalosaurus. Don't worry about the scary big word, just shorten it to Pachy. They have a unique spine and skull structure."

She held out her arm, parallel to the ground and straightened along with her fist. "When they lower their heads down, their skull aligns perfectly with their spine. Once they lock into place, they're a near-half-ton battering ram of pure muscle, rage and bone, charging after you with a ten-inch thick bone-dome." She tapped her skull a few times for emphasis at the end of her spiel, then pointed at him. "That'll pulverize your insides and shatter _your_ bones. Try not to be on the receiving end of their charge. I've gotten hit and knocked down only twice and I hate the shit out of it because they don't leave you alone, even after you stop moving. They're sadistic little fuckers."

He watched the tiny nimble creatures below. They looked so small compared to the roaming giants that surrounded them. He remembered the Compsognathus, however, and how tiny they were and just how damaging they could be. He decided that everything dinosaur-related on this island could royally hurt him, one way or another, and messing with any of them should be filed under Bad Ideas all around.

From the dome-headed Pachycephalosaurus; to the tri-horned Triceratops; to the heavy-armoured Ankylosaurus; to the long-necked and lumbering titan Brachiosaurus; to the plate-and-spike-covered Stegosaurus, they were each unique and dangerous in their own rights. Pachys charged liked battering rams; Trikes would gore and stampede over threats; Brachys could rear up and squash or kick whatever was underfoot and had immense weight and size on their side. He was beginning to see how much more dangerous the herbivores were compared to their carnivorous counterparts.

All the while, Ash continued her lesson, her voice quiet as she spoke. He could hear the strain of barely-contained passion in her tone, the very heart of her joy in sharing this critical information. There was elation in her words, and an almost fevered glow to her as she scanned her eyes over the herds below. This was something she loved, for all intents and purposes. She knew the animals, their quirks and behaviors, the way they reacted to the inherent weather changes and threats to fellow dinosaur predators, the Solarii, and Oni alike.

The day passed quicker than he had expected and before he knew it, they were leaving the herds behind in their northern valley. Their calls continued to follow them, however: crooning trumpets, whistling groans, mournful wails. It was a haunting melody that barely carried itself over and past the mountains to reach them on the other side of the island. Night fell upon them with a hushed whisper, quickly bleeding into the sky as they trekked through the ruinous yet still oddly beautiful landscape. He spotted cliffside homes high up on the mountain faces and in the forest as they pushed through, small cabins and shacks that had once housed the indigenous peoples of the island. There were traces of Solarii influence everywhere too, he began to notice. Crates and pallets of salvage and broken hubs of worn technology were strewn about the island, mingling with the ancient artefacts. There was also the more recent graffiti that was smeared over walls—manmade and natural alike—all over the place. It was white paint, mostly, with motifs most commonly depicting a woman figure with a crown of sunlight. The Sun Queen, Ash had pointed out to him.

The other messages were far more disturbing: ' _No One Leaves'_ ; _'Embrace the Fire'_ ; _'Father Mathias Will Set Us Free'_. There were others, but above all others, ' _No One Leaves_ ' was the most continuously repeated message. He didn't need to ask its context or for the between-the-lines of the missive.

It was already so obvious.

The raptors joined them not long after, flitting in and out of range of sight. Mostly, they were shadows within the shadows, vague shapes that may or may not have been really there. They were silent wraiths, not uttering a peep as they shadowed the two of them. Occasionally, they'd come trotting into view, gently butting their heads against Ash's. She took it in good measure, although none of them offered the same to him. He was sort of glad—he couldn't imagine getting hit in the head by one of them would feel pleasant, however affectionate a gesture it may appear to be.

When the third raptor stopped by and repeated the same head-bonking gesture, he realized he had no clue what the raptor was named. He only knew Clover because of her short stay with them. He'd see her flitting about, but she was the only one he knew by name. When he asked Ash what the others were called, she glanced back at him and shrugged.

"I don't really use their names all that often. I try not to use language with them like we use it. Body language is more important than spoken word."

"But they understand."

"Sure. They understand. But what would you understand better: me yelling at you to get on the ground with only my words, or me pointing an arrow in your face and motioning for the same response?" When she looked at him, he caught sight of a crooked smile on her face as they passed beneath the shafts of moonlight before her face was shrouded by shadows.

"I…suppose the arrow in the face would be more concerning than you yelling," he admitted at last. She huffed. Or was that a laugh?

…had she ever really laughed before? He couldn't recall.

"Words only get so far. Emphasizing my meaning through actions tends to produce more results with these guys. Sometimes words are necessary, but not always. Just because they understand, doesn't mean they care. Putting what I want or need into actions shows more commitment to getting what I want, rather than standing around talking about it."

She paused to hop over the trunk of a huge fallen tree in the middle of their path. He scrambled over much the same, landing nimbly on the other side beside her. One of the raptors cough-barked above him suddenly. Allen whirled and found the large creature crouching above him on the fallen trunk. It almost looked like a bird, the way it hunkered down, arms tucked close to its body, its feathers puffing out and the way it would cock its head to the side.

Ash said that dinosaurs were the ancient descendants of birds. Seeing the raptors and how they moved, acted, and looked…it really wasn't hard to imagine that connection at all.

"That's Carver," Ash said behind him. "He's the beta. The second-in-command."

"Carver…" Allen repeated quietly, eyes straying to the claws on the raptor's hind feet. They clicked against the bark occasionally. "Apt."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Ash laugh. It could have easily been a snort, though. The raptor watched him with suspicious beady eyes, his avian gaze watching Allen's every move with such intense scrutiny, it made a chill crawl up his spine. He didn't fancy being on the receiving end of those large hind claws. He had a feeling that if these animals had ever wanted to harm him, they could do it without him knowing what hit him until they were nearly done with the attack. He was just glad that, however and whatever ways she'd gotten through to them so they could communicate on the same level, it worked. It meant that they had, on some level, approached a level of mutual understanding. It also meant that, for now, they were on the pack's good side.

Allen turned to follow Ash, trotting after her through the undergrowth to catch up. Another raptor had joined them. The animal stepped with purpose and care, barely disturbing the undergrowth as it glided toward their position. It was grace put into motion, a hunter on the move. Allen pushed forward, feeling the tangled vines and reaching leaves clawing at his body and limbs, catching on his clothes, trying to slow him down. There was a path they were following, but it was so heavily overgrown, the only way to know it was there was by the cobbled path his feet were following. He was too busy trying to disentangle himself from one particularly clingy bush that he didn't notice the odd piece of seemingly random salvage until pain lanced up his leg and something slammed itself shut like a pair of jaws on his ankle.

He screamed, falling over with all the grace of a boneless chicken. His leg remained locked into place and his fall jarred his limb. A new lance of pain went crackling up his leg, then up into his spine like lightning.

"Hold still!" Something tugged at his leg and another fresh wave roiled over him again. "Stop wiggling, dammit, it's a fucking bear trap! It's got your ankle!"

That sounded about right. Some kind of poacher's trap had him locked in place. He held out long enough for the vice-like pressure to ease. He bit back a cry and stifled it to a piteous whimper when the object released itself and a hand on the backside of his calf guided him away. A metallic snap rang in the air, the report obviously declaring the trap blissfully empty.

"Easy, easy. You're lucky that thing didn't have teeth."

"Oh, lucky! How am I _lucky_?" He snapped back through clenched teeth.

"The teeth would have stabbed through your leg and then you'd be bleeding out instead."

He groaned, his heart pounding away like a drum in his chest. His leg throbbed horribly and every little prod Ash made, it sent forth a fresh wave of pain from the core of his offended limb to spread across his whole body. She sighed, a heavy and disgruntled noise, after nearly a minute of her prodding.

"I need to get your boot off, or the swelling will make it hurt worse than it already is. And I have no idea yet if your leg is broken."

"Can they do that?"

"Only if your bones are brittle. Or if you're a small child. These are heavy duty traps, but again, you're lucky they don't have teeth. The Solarii laid these out all over the place. I collect as many as I can but even I miss some."

"Why do they leave these things out?"

"Why do you think? They want to trap people and kill them. This keeps them in place, like a snare. Even if they got loose, it'd be a miracle if they could walk, let alone fight on an injured ankle. Or worse." She grabbed the heel of his boot and was as gentle as he believed she could be, but it wasn't gentle enough. He bit back another groan, hissing through clenched teeth.

"I know, I know. It hurts. Suck it up, and it'll be over soon. And try to breathe; you have lungs for a reason."

 _Easy for her to say!_

Overall, it didn't take her long to easy his boot off and carefully peel the sock off his foot. He couldn't see much in the dark, but the way Ash had his leg propped across her lap and was examining his calf, ankle, and foot, she could see just fine. She was gentle, far gentler than she had been with extracting his boot and far more gentle than he had been expecting. He lay back down, an irritated groan bubbling up in his throat.

Just his luck.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Báthory took him the rest of the way back to the hideout. It took the rest of the night navigating the timorous landscape; finding an easy and equitable route that would allow the large predator easy passage with Allen on her backside was slow-going. The island had too many cliffs, and just as many weakened, blocked, or erased roads and passageways. The storms and nature alike had done their parts to chip away at the once-organized highways that must have existed on the forgotten island, once upon a time.

A grey dawn was rising in the east by the time they made it back to the mountain stronghold. Ash had taken point while Allen rode on Báthory's backside. His foot and ankle were still tender and ached with each thudding step Báthory took, but her strides were long, and even with all the detours, they made good time.

He was honestly relieved to be away from Báthory once they had made it back. The old tyrannosaur was even more terrifying up close and personal, even if he was away from her grinning jaws. He could tell, from the myriad of scars that littered her hide to her vastly sheer presence, it was difficult not to be intimidated by a predator that could snatch him up in one bite and then some.

Ash helped him inside as Báthory took her leave. He hopped on his good foot, one arm slung over Ash's shoulders. Even with her paws, she was still shorter than him.

"Easy does it. I'll get you some meds for the swelling and pain."

She helped him to his bed and he was thankful to be able to relax at last. As soon as he laid down, most of the tension he'd been riddled with for most of the night drained out of him. Even the ache in his leg eased up some, now that it was propped up. Ash was gone only a few minutes, but it felt like seconds. He was exhausted from the ride, his entire body almost as sore as his leg. Riding bareback on a tyrannosaurus was not something he'd recommend to anyone.

"Here. Vicodin. It'll help with the pain and some of the swelling," she gave him a glass of water and a few pills. She was unraveling a beige-coloured roll of bandages as he downed the pills with a grimace. One went down the wrong way and nearly stuck in his throat. He took another swig of water while Ash moved toward the other end of the bed gently propping his foot up on her lap. "I'm gonna put an ACE bandage on your ankle. It'll act like a splint and keep it from getting jostled. It'll hurt for a little, but it'll help."

At least she was honest and upfront about it. No little white lies, no half-comforts.

…actually, he would have liked it a little bit. The bandage did hurt for a time, but it also did the job of keeping his foot immobile. It helped quite a lot in fact—at least, he wouldn't need to worry about stepping wrong. As the minutes crawled by, his thoughts started to grow muddled and his eyelids heavy. He barely noticed when Ash had stepped away, not until he opened his eyes and realized it was dark. The candles had nearly gone out, having shrunk in on themselves from melting.

Only one soldiered on, its flickering orange glow warm and soft. Allen sat up, dizzied even by that motion alone. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and as always, that hovering presence of the Fourteenth lingered beside him. For once, the Fourteenth wasn't smiling.

He laid back down, throwing an arm across his eyes. _I must have fallen asleep. My foot doesn't feel that bad anymore._

When he tried moving it, his legs were stiff and sore, especially on the insides of his thighs. He groaned.

 _Never riding a dinosaur again. It's not worth it. This is definitely not worth it,_ he resolved when a twinge of pain arced through his both his legs.

Slowly, the muddled thoughts came to a slow halt and in came the trickling half-formed faces of his friends when he thought of what they would say if they saw him on a dinosaur. Lavi would have probably been begging for his own turn and Miranda would have hid away. Kanda…he might have hopped right up on Carmilla, just to outdo Báthory. And Lenalee…

He choked on the thoughts of everyone else, from Johnny in the science department to Komui, even Master Cross…he probably would have laughed at Allen, whether in amusement or something else, he still wasn't sure. The man was an enigma. Or he was…

"You're crying."

He moved his arm, startled and regretted sitting up so suddenly when he did. Everything hurt, like his entire body was just one giant ache. Even blinking hurt now. Or it could just be that he really was crying. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"I'm fine, just…bad dreams," he said in a rush. Ash stood at the threshold of his quarters, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she studied him. The flicker of the candle made her eyes glow eerily.

"I hate those," she said at last, her voice soft and earnest. She cleared her throat and motioned to her hands. A steaming bowl with a heel of bread was in one hand, while in the other she had a glass of water. "Mmm. Anyway. How're you feeling?"

"Like Báthory stepped on me, rather than carried me all the way here."

"Yeah. First time rides are like that. I gave up on saddles. She hates wearing them. Sorry," she replied, seating herself on the edge of the bed. He sat up again, enduring the fresh wave of ache and pain of various levels across his body, taking the bowl from her gratefully.

"Thanks. How long was I out?"

"A couple hours. Went out, got some food, and made a stew. I got some more Vicodin, in case you needed something to ease things. Last dose for you, though, and then its Ibuprofen the rest of the way. I'd rather not use my entire stash on a bruised ankle. You'll be fine with the switch, don't worry."

"I…suppose I don't have much choice, so I'll just say thank you."

"Mm-hmmm. If you need more food, just let me know. I'll be in the other room."

She left without another word and a swish of her tail after that was said. He was growing used to that sight, at least.

Allen finished his bowl quickly, and almost as soon as he'd finished, she'd returned, this time with the medicine and a few more new candles to replace the melted ones. After he took it, she checked on his foot, even loosened the bandages a little. His foot burned and stung with pins and needles but he felt the relief shortly thereafter. He even wriggled his toes when he was able. He winced at the sight of the ugly bruising that had bloomed all over his pale skin. If he hadn't been any tougher than the average human, he shuddered to think how the trap could have broken his ankle.

The fuzzy sensation that crept along the edges of his thoughts came along slower the second time around. Maybe it was because he actually had something in his stomach, but after his second bowl, he was drowsy once again, but not as much as last time. He had a few more bowls and some more bread, but after a time, the pot ran out and he was left with deer jerky to nibble on.

From time to time, he'd catch sight of the Fourteenth, still hovering and still unsmiling. This was new, he realized. The Fourteenth was always smiling. He glowered dully at the entity.

"What're you looking at?" He grumbled.

"I'm looking at you, but you're looking at yourself in the mirror."

He jumped at the words that cut like a knife through his little bubble of supposed seclusion. Ash had a brow raised, her lips quirked, her head cocked to the side questioningly as she hovered by the doorway. He shrunk back sheepishly. He hadn't even heard her approaching. She was great at that—sneaking around without letting others know she was there. During his archery lessons, on more than one occasion, she had stopped in the middle of a session and tracked a deer that was close by, not uttering a peep or making a sound. Just like a raptor.

"Sorry, it's…" Allen fell short on an excuse underneath her scrutinizing gaze. He lowered his eyes. "I don't really know anymore. I don't recognize myself sometimes." His throat tightened a little. "I don't even think my friends would recognize who I am now. Not that it matters."

He heard the slightest rustle of the curtain. The scrape of claws on stone. The only sign that he knew Ash was still there and willing to keep her presence known. If she really wanted, she could have disappeared from sight, then and there, and he wouldn't know it until he looked up.

"My family is…gone. My father's dead and…shortly after he passed away, it led me to the people I'd soon call my dear friends and now they're gone too. They're all gone and I'm the _only one left_. Assuming this is the future, then…" He choked on his next words, his eyes hot and stinging. "They're gone and I don't even know what happened to them, to everyone I know, and how things turned out. I never got to see things through and I just…want to know if they made it…"

He sucked in a breath past the hard lump that had formed in the base of his throat, felt the first streak of tears prickle past the corners of his eyes.

"I couldn't even see things to the end, I got stuck _here_."

The silence stretched on, but it only lasted for so long, before Ash spoke up. She was quiet and reserved as she regarded him.

"I told you before, you're not completely stuck. I could reset the island and send you on your way."

"There's no one left back home in the Black Order. What point would there be in returning to the site, when there'll likely be nothing left to find?"

"Then quit bitching. If you're going to sulk and feel sorry for yourself, then go do it somewhere else. You're ruining the mood of this place."

He scowled at her, feeling his blood boil a little at her careless attitude.

"How can you be so calloused? Ever since I met you, you've been—cruel with how you treat others' feelings! That man, myself—why can't you pretend to be kind for more than just a passing moment?"

"Because letting myself get bummed out and staying that way when bad things happen doesn't help anyone. Pretending things are fine or are going to be fine instead of seeing things as they are and accepting the reality will only make things worse, not better." Her voice was low, but there was a strange growling undertone beneath her words.

Her eyes were both yellow-gold, the blue in her right eye having fled completely, but she only held his gaze for just a moment. "And you aren't the only one who's lost people. Try living through your loved ones deaths and keep on living for hundreds of years, unable to really die, no matter how much you want to. _You_ got displaced in time. I've had to actually _endure_ living for years on end. Why don't we switch lives for a little, because I'd love to know what it feels to be human again."

He was surprised by the slight crack in her voice and how it raised an octave higher at the end. He stared, gaping, even after she left him alone. He stared after the spot she'd been standing moments ago, suddenly feeling sick.

Allen fell into a fitful sleep not long after. He dreamed of his friends, of the few good memories he'd made, and later on, the bad ones came for him again.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	6. Chapter Six: Capsized

**Chapter Six:  
Capsized**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _We were two ships in the night  
Passing by in the pale moonlight and capsized  
We were two ships in the night  
Hell bent on trying to survive and capsized_  
 **-"** _ **Capsized**_ **" by you+me**  
 **  
OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Why do you bother staying?"

Her voice was raw and bone-tired, like she hadn't used it in a very long time. It was hoarse, almost. Was she getting sick, perhaps?

"I have nowhere else to go."

"That's a piss poor excuse if I ever heard one. Who in their right mind would _voluntarily_ decide to stay on this hellhole of a wet rock? And I don't want to hear your charity spiel about me 'being lonely'," she said with a sigh. "There's something more that you're not telling me."

There was. He'd given her the bare minimum the other day, but there was still more. He didn't believe it appropriate to share; not when she was starting to sound wound up tighter than a spring, ready to explode at any given moment. Not answering was probably going to do the same, regardless. Eventually, she fell quiet. It wasn't long before he noticed her jitteriness had grown in the span of the silence. It wasn't long after that when she finally got up, grabbed a bow, strung it quickly, and snatched up a quiver chock full of arrows and stalked over toward the door. He scrambled to his feet, intent on following. If she was going hunting, he reasoned he should at least follow—if not to help, then to learn.

He was brusquely put off when she snapped at him that she was going out alone. If he followed, she wasn't going to slow down, and he would be responsible for getting back on his own and she wouldn't help him if he got lost.

Allen hesitated on the threshold, weighing his options. He didn't know the island as well as she did, but he felt confident enough he could keep up this time around. He faltered for too long, just enough to grab his own makeshift bow and some arrows of his own making, before realizing she had left. He was alone in the doorway, with no clue where she had gone or what direction she had taken. The former exorcist trailed back inside with a pool of annoyance growing, swelling, in his chest.

She treated him like a haphazard child; giving him harsh options one day and none the next. She treated him like he was nothing more than something that got in her way more often than naught.

And yet she had her soft moments. He remembered the shipwrecked victim she had rescued, brought back to her little homestead, tried to save…and even when she had failed, she still held a funeral pyre for the man. She had cried. She could feel more than just annoyance, irritation, and snappish anger. He's seen it before.

But she chooses not to show it often.

She was a confusing enigma all on her own. Allen just couldn't figure out what made her tick, what flipped her switch and so suddenly.

Allen decided to eat the rest of the food in the cave, hunger pangs clawing at his belly like rabid little Compies. If she was going out hunting, she was bringing back food. At this point, he couldn't care what she thought. If he was going to be treated like a child, he would very well act like one, if only to spite her.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Long hours passed. He'd occasionally go outside to see the passing time by using the sun for direction. She had left near mid-morning. The sun was dipping low enough to cast bruised purple-and-grey shadows across the island. Soon enough it would be dark. Allen wasn't entirely worried. She had been gone just as long before. Sometimes she'd bring back food. Other times, she would come in running with the raptors, or riding atop Báthory or Carmilla. She rarely did the latter, however; it was difficult for the larger rexes to get into the canyon.

There hadn't been as much food as he first believed after he finished it off, and he was somewhat regretting eating it all in one go.

He kept telling himself Ash would be back soon. He went to bed telling himself that. He woke up the next morning feeling less confident in regards to that train of thought. The hours continued to tick by, and the longer the day dragged, the antsier he felt. He found himself wandering further away from the makeshift homestead whenever he left its confines, only to double back with guilt eating away at his gut instead of hunger.

The second night passed and the third day came. The third day came and went, with the third night rolling in. He slept little that night, jumping at imaginary sounds, believing it to be Ash returning in the middle of the night, only to find he was wrong. Ash still hadn't returned by the dawn of the fourth day.

Allen left early that day, setting out through the tangled forest below, glimpsing the eerily silent silhouette of the island's ages-old palace and the hastily erected shantytown through feeble sunlight and heavy morning fog. He trekked through the dilapidated ramshackle ruins, their upkeep less than exemplary, jumping on occasion when the stray rat skittered by or a boar charged through the empty muddied streets. He climbed a few of the higher points to get a view of things, but found he'd never see past the surrounding mountains, or the looming palace encroaching upon the entire shantytown. So, he summoned his Crowned Clown and the familiar weight of the cowl and cloak settled on his shoulders. Granted, it wasn't as versatile in straightforward mobility like Lavi's hammer, but it helped with the travel, now that he couldn't access the Ark.

Ascending the mountains wasn't a straight shot, but he got up there quicker than climbing straight out. He stood on the threshold of the gates that led deeper into the palace grounds, but that didn't stop him from admiring the rundown, yet still grandeur sight of the structure. Or what he could make out, anyway. The fogs weren't clearing, making visibility more difficult than he would have liked or anticipated. Allen turned back toward the palace, hoping to find a trail that would lead further down into the island.

Hours passed and he eventually made his way into another forested sector beyond the palace. He was pretty sure he was near the beach, but he once again lost all sense of direction. He sighed heavily, recalling Ash's words to him days before, telling him that if he left, it was his responsibility to find his way back to the cave.

 _I don't know if I'll be able to find it, even if I wanted again. Not without her. Or the raptors._

He highly doubted the latter would help him, and the former…

Allen pushed out any of the darker thoughts about the woman, hoping that she was all right and simply cooling down somewhere on the island. He was hoping she wasn't hurt…

The life on the island simply teemed about and he had one too many close calls with the local wildlife than he cared to admit. From the lithe and vicious Dilophosaurs, the chirping bird-like Compies, to the demure and skittish Dryosaurs, there was very little left in terms of 'normal animals'. Smaller creatures like rats or rabbits still thrived, and on occasion, he'd cross paths with some of the deer, but anything bigger were all but nonexistent. Ash once told him that as far as she could recall, the dinosaurs hadn't always been there. There had been snakes and wolves, more deer, boars, and rabbits abound. Then the dinosaurs came, and it changed the pecking order. They took over as the dominant species, and the mammals were just barely clinging to life here.

Travel through Yamatai was treacherous and it wasn't a late revelation to him. High rising and steep cliffs; deceptive trails and walkways; and the amount of climbing he had to do to get from one place to the next…at the very least, it challenged him. He just hoped it wouldn't kill him. He vaguely recognized some of the old war bunker ruins as he came upon them, and he knew by now that she tended to squirrel away in the small, confined spaces that the larger predators couldn't get into. Although, to be fair, they would charge through the crumbling structures anyway. It didn't stop the smaller ones from following, either.

Allen searched top to bottom, finding no signs of the woman—or so he thought at first. He was almost ready to move on, when he caught sight of something from the corner of his eye. At first glance, it looked like a ribbon. On closer inspection, he realized it was the lengthy sash Ash always wore—a faded rusty-red piece of cloth that she normally wrapped around her hips and waist, letting the rest of the length dangle about. Or at least, it was the tattered remains of what was left of the thing, but he recognized it all the same. The longest piece had wrapped itself around a piece of rebar, fluttering in the slight breeze.

He quickly snatched it up and noticed there were fresh specks of blood on it, and the edges were torn and frayed—more so than usual, like it had been shredded to pieces, torn away from the main sash. The longer he remained in spot, the more evidence of a struggle he came to notice all around him—a broken column, unnaturally bent rebar, smashed concrete, claw marks gouged deep in the structure, spatters of blood here and there. No body, so far. That much was a relief, but not by much.

Allen followed the trail, leading to the top floor of the bunker, and found himself coming to the end of the blood trail underneath a makeshift zip line. He mounted it, using the length of clothe he had on him and it led him to another section of the bunker, which would otherwise be inaccessible to him. Freezing, stagnant waters greeted him at the bottom once he released from the speedy mode of travel, as well as a few preserved corpses, gaunt with age. They didn't stink, that much he was grateful for. Too old, probably.

He quickly passed them all with a queasy, sickening feeling to his stomach. The blood trail was gone, he came to realize. He didn't even have to travel that deeply into the structure to figure it out. She could heal just as fast as a Noah, if not faster. He was lucky there had even been a blood trail to begin with. He could recall coming through this place before. Broken down machinery, collapsed rooms, and ominous messages of the previous Solarii inhabitants were all that remained. There was all that and a few discarded weapons and empty bullet shells littering the floors.

By the time he found a way out of the structure, the sun was low on the horizon and setting fire to the sea in the far distance. Deep reds and heavy golds painted the world. Grey shadows were creeping along the mountains and in the forests. The wilder night life animals would begin stirring soon. He didn't fancy another run in with the Compies, or worse. He trusted Báthory and Carmilla to not attack him, so long as Ash was around. He had less faith that they'd honour keeping him alive if they caught him on his own again. They were, after all, still animals deep down, intelligence or training notwithstanding. They were also very big, very toothy, and very hungry predators.

That was important to remember, too.

Allen eventually made his way back into the forest gullies, traipsing through long overgrown trails that had probably, once upon a time, been maintained in a neat and orderly fashion. With no one to properly clear them out, however, the forest was reclaiming the land inch by inch, leaf by leaf. More ruins, more remnants of human inhabitants, and more run-ins with some of the less aggressive animals of the island passed by. The sun had finally set, and the dark of night came creeping in, like a predator all on its own. With the approach of night came the rains, hiding under the cover of the darkness. He hadn't realized it until the first fat, wet drops hit him on the head and a torrential downpour was abruptly underway.

He found shelter under the ruins of an old building—if it could even be called that—directly across an old motor pool, where some large trucks sat. Another aging building sat further down the way, lonely and decrepit, besides the motor pool overhang. With the rains here, that meant no fire. No fire meant he was going to end up wet, cold, and miserable until they stopped, and even then, everything will have been soaked thoroughly, so still no fire.

 _I shouldn't have left. The only thing I have to go on is what's left of her sash, and that blood I followed. It's not even there anymore, not with this storm washing it away now. She could be dead by now for all I know…_

He hugged himself a little tighter, hands jammed into his armpits as he glared sullenly out into the darkness. He could barely see the motor pool when he'd first taken refuge in the broken down structure he was squatting in, and now it was a hazy silhouette.

But wait…

He squinted, straining his eyes. There!

He saw a flicker of light, inside one of the vehicles. It was there and then gone in a flash, like the weak fluttering of a candle's light going out. He leaned forward expectantly, hoping it hadn't been a trick of the eyes.

 _Please. Please let me have found her._

She was the only person on this island—snippy attitude be damned—with any knowledge about every single thing on this little island. Like it or not, she was his ally, constantly tentative status notwithstanding.

The spark came again, the glow fading and coming back like a heartbeat. He almost felt like his own was beating in time with it. When it sputtered out a second time, he rushed out, feet slapping noisily in the pooled waters across the tarmac. One of the puddles he splashed through was deeper than expected and his foot caught the lip of broken asphalt. He went down hard with a sharp pain jolting down his ankle and up his leg—the very same one that had only just recovered from the bear trap not that long ago. He felt his ankle give an angry, ugly little pop and it hurt more than the fall did. He ended up slamming into the side of one of the trucks.

He nearly panicked and summoned his claws when he felt something grab him from behind almost as quickly, nearly yanking him fully upright.

"Shut up and lean on me or you're going to get us both killed!"

He recognized the terse voice and settled almost immediately, careful not to put weight on his still-throbbing foot and ankle. He stumbled with all the grace of a newborn kitten, leaning on the smaller woman until he was shoved forward toward the side of the truck and up into the cab above them. He had to haul himself up into the seat. Ash was right on his heels, carefully closing the truck door instead of slamming it home like he almost expected her to do.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a hand clapped itself over it, and his immediate thought was, _HOT!_

Her hand was burning hot! Unnaturally so to the touch, but he was soon concerned with the way she squeezed his face, hard, and he winced with a soft noise of indignation.

"Shut up," she hissed at him gruffly, her voice low and husky. "Those fucking Carnies are here."

He stiffened and glanced out toward the windows surrounding them. Her little nicknames, while there was something left to be desired in most of them, were much more helpful to recognize than full names. 'Carnies' quickly translated into Carnotaurus, and a brief recollection of a monstrous dinosaur with a stubby bull-face, horned protrusions over beady eyes, and a nasty predilection for attacking anything and anyone in its vicinity came to mind. All that, and the fact that they had a camouflage-cloaking ability almost scarily akin to Carmilla's was another unsettling factor to remember. It wasn't as advanced, but it was good enough for the big bastards to get too close for comfort and by then, it'd be too late.

He was almost expecting to see the aggressive predator to come stalking past the truck, sniffing through its stubby snout, but he saw nothing but darkness outside. There was too much condensation within the cab. It was fogging up the glass windows, and now that he was in it, he realized how much warmer it was inside than it was outside.

It clicked suddenly like a bolt out of the blue. Ash was the one producing all the heat. So much so that it was heating the entire enclosed space around them. He had suspected on many occasions that her body heat wasn't entirely natural with how high it always seemed. But in this colder environment, it was easier to pinpoint now. Given with how uncomfortably warm her touch was, it was no wonder she didn't like touching him or being too close if it wasn't necessary. It made sense how she could simply stick her flesh and blood hand straight into a fire, and not be burned. The earlier flickering, the same that had drawn him closer to this truck—she was a walking, talking, living, breathing furnace with an immunity to fire.

No wonder she also had such a temper.

He reached up, slowly, and carefully pried her hand away and it fell away unusually quickly, although she hadn't quite moved away from him.

"Where?" He said, as quietly as he could manage. Her ears atop her head flicked while her focus remained on the door's window. She had something on her head, but what he couldn't tell.

"They're about two hundred meters out, just beyond the tree line. The big bastards have been tracking me the last day or so."

The rain beat a constant, steady rhythm upon the roof of the overhead. It was the unsteady, borderline laboured breathing that he picked up on in between every watery drumbeat that threw him for a loop. Ash slumped against the seat, and he took in her appearance, as best he could in the dark vehicle cab.

'Dirty' didn't quite cover how she looked. She appeared as though she had crawled through the mud, the rivers, a slurry of corpses and grime, hell—a warzone would probably have been an accurate description of what she had just dragged herself through. When she turned her face, his breath hitched. She had a piece of her tattered cloth around both her eyes like a makeshift bandage. He couldn't tell if it was another piece of her sash or not, but he suspected it was.

"What happened to you?"

"Dilos. Caught me by surprise when I was trying to get away from the Carnies. Spat in my face, poison's taking its sweet time leaving my system and I can't see that well still. I barely made it here in one piece. Raptors are MIA. Same with the big girls. The Dilos left, but the big'uns out there…" She shook her head, took in a heavy, wet-sounding breath and suddenly broke into a fit of wet-sounding coughs. He froze, unsure of whether he should stay back or pat her on the back. She wheezed when it was over, slumping in her seat again. "How bad's your ankle? I heard you fall."

"You—you could tell all that?"

"I'm temporarily blind, not deaf. My earballs still work, you know."

He made a face at her. There was still some room in the cab, so he pushed away from her and carefully pulled his legs up onto the remaining seat. He nearly took up the entire length of the bench, leaving little space for her to sit. She didn't seem to mind.

Deftly, she found his ankle and prodded with the same surprising gentleness she displayed the last time he'd injured his ankle. It was the same one too, he glumly noted once again, as she eased his boot off. He winced and recoiled when she tweaked it just right, stifling a pained cry. He could battle Akuma until he was coughing up blood and was suffering from broken bones, but one stupid hole in the ground royally screwed up his day and nearly snapped his damned ankle. Just like the toothless bear trap.

The irony.

"Twisted bad, with the way you just jumped. You have a tendency to fuck up your leg, you know that? Same one too." she muttered dryly. Of course she'd notice that. Why wouldn't she? What little of her sash she still had around her waist was quickly taken off and she was already tying it around his ankle.

"Wait—just hold on," he sat up a little straighter, trying to give her a little more working room. "How long have you been here?"

She turned away with another sudden fit of coughs. He waited as she took heavy breaths to calm herself when she finished.

"It doesn't matter—"

"Don't tell me that!" He snapped back, glowering at the woman. She tensed backwards, clearly taken aback. "Don't tell me, 'it doesn't matter', Ash, because it does! I'm tired of you telling me that! I was worried sick when you didn't come back! You've been blinded and you've been hunted for the last several days, and I'm guessing you're sick right now. My ankle can wait, but from the sounds of it, you can't! Now please… _please_ , tell me how I can help you."

The air itself seemed electrified in the moments following his words. She remained silent as he fell into it, and the only central noise to be heard was the beat of the rain around them.

"You shouldn't worry about me," she said finally, her voice hoarse and quiet. "This is what my life was like long before you came here. It's what it'll be like when you leave. There's no point in trying to change it. Trust me when I say it all just ends up in a painful, bloody mess."

There it was again. He could sense more, words left unsaid, hanging in the back of her throat, begging for release, but they were eventually swallowed back down instead. He felt cold then, in spite of the muggy heat blanketing him. He didn't know whether to pity her or be angry with her, with how utterly…defeated she sounded in that moment, like she'd given up trying to change _anything_ for the better. Maybe she had in the past. Maybe she hadn't. He could only take her word for it.

"You shouldn't have come out here. I would've gotten back, eventually," she said, leaning heavily into her seat.

He shook his head. "You clearly don't know much about me, then. I'm a bit stubborn when it comes to my friends."

"We're not friends."

It took an extra moment for the words to sink in and when they had, they hurt like a knife had just been twisted into his gut. The poignant, matter-of-fact, hardened tone suggested he shouldn't argue and at first, he didn't. He nearly took it at face value, but as the words kept playing in his head, over and over again in that hard, quiet voice of hers, the sadder it sounded. It was all a front. She was trying to force the image, distance herself and stay that way. It was a front for someone trying hard to keep others out, not letting them any closer than they'd already gotten. He might have once fallen for that when he'd first arrived, backing away from such a person, but now he knew better.

He knew her a little better than she probably would have liked.

"My friends and my only family are gone," he started quietly. "I'm far from home, and I don't mean I'm just continents away. I'm apparently out of my own time period, but I think you've already figured that out. I…had a mission, in the time and place I had once lived in, but now…it seems like it's over, and it's been that way for quite some time. And pardon me for how sad it may sound, but I have no one else, except for you, right here and right now. I can't exactly pick and choose my company, as pickings are a bit slim around on this island." He exhaled, long and slow. "I'm not going to give up on what little relationship—or whatever it is we're supposed to call it—just because you're having an internal crisis. I'd rather have you by my side than no one at all."

She said nothing as she kept herself leaning on the back of the cab seat, following her tried and true silent option. It stretched on, until it was uncomfortable staring at her when she refused to respond. It wasn't as though she could see him, but still.

"Ash?"

She said nothing still. He pushed himself into a more upright position and reached for her, stopped suddenly and retracted his hand, then tried again. Tentatively, he prodded her shoulder. There was no reflexive recoil from her, nor was there her usual snappy and predictable response of ' _Don't fucking touch me'_.

She slumped over, and he scrambled up to pull her into an upright position when she started listing. Her head lolled and he hastily tugged the makeshift blindfold down. He squinted in the darkness, but he could make out that she wasn't conscious anymore. And she was simply burning up. He couldn't make out if she was slick from the rain or if it was sweat or both, but she was soaked, worse than him even.

 _I didn't notice. I was sitting right next to her, and I didn't even_ notice _._

He pressed two fingers to her neck, feeling for her pulse and found it to be weaker than he imagined it should be. He pressed a palm to her forehead again. Hot. So hot to the touch. How was she still alive, with a fever this high? How had she even been conscious and functioning?

He knew so little. The only thing he knew for sure was that when someone else had a temperature like this, they weren't long for this world. Just how high was her normal body temperature, and what would constitute as a high enough fever for her that he'd need to worry about?

A tremor vibrating up in the cab startled him. Another followed shortly after the first, and then another and another and another. Slowly, but steadily, it continued. Allen glanced up at the windows and wiped away some of the fog covering it. Something was moving out there, he could just barely make it out. It was a familiar enough silhouette. Stocky body, short tail, stubby forelimbs, broad and muscular torso, a horned skull—it was one of the Carnotaurs.

 _Not now, please no_ , he thought, moments before Ash began coughing. He jumped at the sound, his heart pounding as the silhouette outside drew closer, drawn by the noise. _Not good, not good!_

A Carnotaurus wasn't as large as Báthory, but there were at least three on the island and where one was, the other two weren't far behind. They were ugly brutes but they were sharp enough hunters and much larger than the Dilos. He wasn't sure what was worse: the venom-spitting Dilos or the camouflage-using Carnies.

He hastily covered her mouth, muffling the noise as carefully as he could without smothering her, but it was too late. The monster was heading their way, and he could hear its shuddering, deep-lunged breaths as it did, the soft and hungry growls reverberating from its chest. The Carnotaurus's hulking form settled a short distance from truck, uttering an inquisitive growl as if sizing up the mechanical object before it. Tentatively, it leaned forward, snout pressing against the metal door. He could make out the horned adornment above its eye as it nudged the door and for a moment, the truck offered some resistance.

The truck groaned under added pressure as the Carnotaurus pressed forward again, harder this time with a heavy snarl. The truck shuddered in response, its undercarriage creaking noisily in protest. After years of being undisturbed, it was not used to being moved about at all. The Carnotaurus roared and drew back, sending a gush of air spewing across the window.

Rain pattered along its dark hide, and Allen caught a glimpse of sharp teeth as it opened its maw. More breath fogged along the glass, obscuring sight of the dinosaur. Then everything went quiet, except for the staccato of rain pounding away at the world around them.

Another growling rumble sounded off, moments before a flash of lightning went off. For several horrifying moments, he caught a real glimpse of the animal outside. Its head was bright red, like it had been dipped in a pool of blood, while dark mottled stripes adorned its backside, the rest of its hide a rusted red-brown. Even fully grown, it wasn't as intimidating in size when compared to either of the rexes, but it more than made up for its smaller size with absolute aggression.

The world went dark. Seconds ticked by and Allen felt his heart pounding.

 _Maybe it left. Maybe it didn't see us._

Beady eyes stared straight at him as the Carnotaurus roared like thunder, a gaping maw with recurving fangs charging forward when another flash of silvery lightning lit up the world.

The Carnotaurus slammed into the cab as darkness settled over them again, tearing into the thin and flimsy metal exterior with ease. Glass exploded around him and Ash. He shielded his eyes, feeling the hot stink of rotted breath pouring into the cab and he gagged. Rainwater and the open air hit him in an icy wave, jostled as the truck groaned in rigorous yet pitiful protest while the Carnotaurus tore into it easily. Jaws snapped above him and he shouted, summoning his claws without thinking and slicing outward. He made contact with something solid and its owner boomed loudly with displeasure, withdrawing rapidly in confusion to reassess.

Allen saw the silhouette draw back, uttering that inquisitive growl once again. It didn't last long as it dove forward once more. Another wave of hot and muggy rotted breath poured over him. The big predator snapped its jaws at empty air, just barely missing the flutter of a white cloak as Allen leapt free of the truck's cab with Ash gathered up in his arms. Hard asphalt and a slurry of rainwater broke their fall while another jolt of hot needles stabbed at his injured ankle, rekindling a surge of pain to race up his leg.

The Carnotaurus roared its displeasure at its meal escaping, turning to follow. Only a few strides, and the animal would be upon them. Allen gathered himself and Ash up, pulling his legs underneath him, biting back the pain so he could stand, perhaps get them under the cover of the tree line—

For a split second, he felt teeth graze along just behind him, that muggy breath and stench of death once more blanketing over him. He almost imagined feeling those jaws closing around him, could almost feel the pinpricks turn into daggers, but it was over just as quickly as it had started. The Carnotaurus' roar was right in his ear, but its cry turned into a strangled scream. Something else had brought itself into the fight, slamming hard and fast into the horned devil behind him and Ash. When he turned, he saw something bigger had overtaken their assailant, sinking its teeth into the animal's neck. The Carnotaurus shrieked in protest, a desperate sound that sounded tinny compared to the bigger opponent crushing down on it. One more terrified howl quickly turned into a gurgle and then that melted into silence.

Another rumble permeated the air, another flash of lightning went off and the hulking, scarred hide of Báthory showed up in the brief stint of light. Yellow eyes imbedded in an even bigger skull turned toward him. The ground shuddered more heavily than the Carnotaurus' own stride had done as she turned herself more fully, and in one stride alone, she was looming over him and Ash.

That hulking skull of hers lowered down to his level and he could simply feel her massive presence as she nudged them both. He went sprawling at the gesture. Báthory thrummed softly and snorted, spraying him with a shot of wet air from her snout. He would have happily admitted that he was relieved when she lifted away from his level. He would also admit that he was absolutely entranced by the impressive stature she simply exuded just by standing before him, and well…not eating him. Báthory's teeth were by far larger than any of the animals that resided on the island, with the exception of Carmilla's teeth, of course.

He was not happy when the old tyrannosaur gathered in a deep breath in her broad chest to let out a booming roar that could compete with the very thunder itself and cow it into shame. Standing next to a very large animal that could produce that kind of deafening sound was not an experience he was keen on repeating for a very long time. The sound of living thunder incarnate before him lapsed into an eerie silence as she stood there like a sentinel for a full minute, still as a statue.

Allen felt like he could breathe when she finally moved away and toward the Carnotaurus' corpse lying at the end of the motor pool, by the ruined remains of the poor truck.

"Báthory…?" His voice sounded inconsequentially tiny when he spoke. The rain drowned out his voice. He tried again, raising his voice as he addressed her. The old tyrannosaur didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she struck at the fresh corpse and a sickening choir of tearing meat and crunching bones accompanied the patter of the rain. Báthory's own pleased growls broke in between her loud snorts. He sighed, glancing at Ash, and was slightly envious, if still a little worried, at her complete ignorance of everything going on around her.

When the ground began to shudder beneath him, he groaned, feeling more annoyed than panicked this time around.

"What _now_?"

He craned his neck to look around him and only caught a glimpse of another very-large-something right on top of him before that same something struck, big and bony limbs wrapped itself around him and Ash. He yelped, taken aback by the turning of the world and the feeling of it tightly wrapping around them as the ground went rushing away.

The very air vibrated around him as a deep-chested rumble went off right in his ear, and the very heat of the beast that had scooped them up rattled him to his core. Báthory paid them little mind, only acknowledging the newcomer long enough with a huff and a glance before she turned back to her meal. Allen craned his head, catching sight of a snowy-white hide and felt his next breath catch in his throat, partly in relief and partly in concern.

"Carmilla!"

An approving growl rumbled around him. Carmilla adjusted her grip, careful to grasp him and Ash and not stab them through with her sharp, curving talons. She took off when she gave another low snarl. Wet foliage soon surrounded them, although they were mostly spared from it as Carmilla tucked them close to her broad chest. He could just about hear her large heart pumping and her huge lungs taking in and expelling air, gargantuan quantities that supported her large frame. The rains continued through the night, but Carmilla made good time and before he knew it, they had made it back to the cave homestead well before dawn. His ankle felt tender and it hurt putting too much weight on it, but it was considerably less painful than earlier when he had first twisted it. He was lucky he hadn't broken it.

Carmilla's presence, from the moment she had snatched him and Ash up to the moment she dropped them off, had been strangely comforting. He knew that she was an incredibly intelligent animal, but in the dim oncoming grey morning light, he could see more depths to her in her eyes than he had first noticed when they first met. She studied him sharply with that crimson gaze of hers, a steady growl permeating the air as he limped to the doorway with Ash in his arms.

When he felt the ground tremble after they were well within the safe confines of the cave, he knew the regal dinosaur had taken her leave.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	7. Chapter Seven: Second Guess

**Chapter Seven:  
Second Guess**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _I don't know where to go from here now  
Something still lingers though, it's weighing me down  
I know the sun will shine again  
Back and forth it seems we'll remain until the end_  
 **-"** _ **Second Guess**_ **" by you + me**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Ash recovered fairly quickly from her fever and short-term blindness shortly after their return. Upon her recovery, she went back to her usual, quiet self and declared no remembrance to their conversation prior to the Carnotaurus' attack. Oddly enough, she stopped pestering him about leaving altogether afterwards at the same time. He wasn't all too sure if she really did forget, or if she had quietly taken his words that night into consideration. He wasn't sure if she really remembered and was simply falling back on her quietness to let the dust settle over the entire happening, to never bring it up again. Allen doubted she forgot, and she simply chose not to bring it up. She was good at that; feigning interest in a conversation and refusing to bring it up after she closed herself off from it.

She had even stepped up his lesson plans with the bow over the next several weeks. He was getting kind of good, he was proud to admit. Most of his arrows actually hit the targets crafted in their training arena now. He could actually control the pull of the draw weight on the bowstring, so much so, that Ash had to restring it to increase the draw weight. She also added a few extra flairs, some of which was explained beyond, "It'll help reduce stress of the bow."

She was even teaching him the modified sign language she used to communicate with Carmilla and the raptors. While Báthory had proven she was an intelligent enough being, she was not as advanced enough to comprehend the waggling of fingers that spoke of more complicated gestures as the others were. Voice commands and the simplest of gestures were best for the old tyrannosaur. Ash was even making an effort to speak and sign at the same time for him, until he got it all down to pat.

"They won't hurt you," she told him, and she even signed it, her hands going slowly so he could read it. "They know better now."

"Is it because of that night?" He blurted, completely forgetting to sign back. Her hands stopped midair and dropped to her side. She stared at him, as though trying to comprehend what he'd said, at first. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, not behind that carefully crafted mask she rarely took off.

To his surprise, she finally nodded. "You were hurt but you didn't try to leave to save your own skin."

The sky was clear of any clouds that day, and for once, a pretty shade of robin's egg blue encompassed them. Yamatai, for once, was still and at peace. That tranquility seemed to include them, too.

"If you had, you would have been torn to pieces by Carmilla or the raptors for being a coward. Whichever one got to you first."

The comfort he had first felt dropped away like his stomach and he glowered at her false sweet smile and the hint of a smug glint in her mismatched eyes. Then she returned to his lessons by promptly flicking his forehead and signing to him as she spoke, "Do you want to learn how to hunt?"

His previous gripes to her words fell in an instant and he nodded without noticing at first.

"Good. Get your bow. We'll start with a Trike today."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Trikes, it turned out, were huge up close. Three-horned, beak-mouthed monstrosities with an attitude that could match Báthory's ornery one, he felt less adequate in taking one down than he had first believed. Just one was a living, breathing muscle-bound beast, and their frilly skull with the long, goring horns made them appear even more imposing.

The raptors had joined them in the field downwind from the herd on the northern end of the island, just out of sight and out of mind. They warbled softly to one another and sometimes, one would bury their snout atop Ash's head and whisper little soft purrs in her ear. Every puff of breath disturbed strands of her hair, sending stray wisps into wayward fly-aways. The werewolf didn't seem to mind, and he was simply glad none of them tried the same with him. He wasn't comforted with the thought of any one of them with their killing claws anywhere near his backside at this point.

All at once, they stopped chittering and it was the deafening silence surrounding him that alerted Allen to glance their way. All of them, even Ash, were bristling and tense, and most of all, focused. He took her lead as she began nodding this way or that to a pair of raptors to head out. One of the last raptors, a snowy white and ashen grey thing with faint black accents to its feathers, remained behind.

"Spectre," she said softly. The raptor keened softly in response. "Distract."

Spectre made no noise as he leapt over the werewolf without warning, a silent phantom gliding across the plains that charged forward toward the unaware herd. It wasn't until the quiet killer was nearly on top of them did they take notice and startle into action. The others struck then, driving away the rest of the herd, forcing one out of the group, snapping at it and getting it to charge where they desired. They were playing the animal into following where they wanted. And the big, lumbering beast was falling right into it, instead of retreating to the safety of its herd. Some leapt onto the Triceratops' backside, clinging with their forelimbs and back claws as well, tearing into flesh only with their jaws. They were practically love bites; it was so half-hearted, it almost seemed silly the way they almost, well, _played_. They weren't slashing and tearing with their vicious sickle back claws like he expected them to.

Only then did he and Ash move, too, when the Triceratops was well and away from the herd. Ash took lead and he followed, shooting occasional nervous glances towards the herd. They brayed and barked and bellowed their displeasure, but they didn't venture closer as the raptors trapped the solitary Trike they'd isolated. The herd was too busy keeping to their ring of horns and shielded skulls to bother breaking the chain. They could only watch from a distance, braying forlornly at the pack. Babies were trapped in the center of the Trike-encompassed ring, squeaking in terror and confusion, shielded by their parents and herd-mates.

The bow in Allen's hands once again felt an inadequate tool to use against an animal this large. It felt…fragile. Flimsy. _Mundane_. Somehow, he felt his Crown Clown, and the sword he could summon at a whim would be more adequate in the face of the dangerous herbivores, but he knew wielding them against the animals wouldn't work. And he wouldn't want to, even if he could.

When he looked to Ash, however, she wielded the thing as though she was holding an extension of herself and was advancing to best the three-horned beast before them. With confidence in her stride and an expert's posture, she glided forward as silently as one of the raptors.

It was over before he knew it and he hadn't even fired a single shot. The Triceratops was collapsing slowly over onto its side, while raptors crawled over the newly made corpse. He stared downrange at the fallen beast. Had he missed something?

He darted after her and upon closer inspection, he saw arrows sprouting out of the animal's eye. He could barely make out the end of the shaft, they had all buried themselves so deep upon impact. Allen stared at the woman's backside and when she turned to look back at him, he promptly decided on the spot to never piss her off when she had her bow and a quiver of arrows on hand. She was almost as scary as Lenalee when she was focused and as deadly silent as any of her raptors.

He'd most likely never see her coming if she ever turned an arrow on him.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Most of the spoils of victory went to the raptors and Carmilla. The larger predator had come to claim her piece shortly after the hunt had concluded, as he and Ash cut away at slabs of meat to take back to the cave. The raptors cough-barked at the white dinosaur in greeting while their feather crests splayed up and smoothed down intermittently as she crouched to feed with them. The rest of the Triceratops herd had moved on, further away from the feasting pack.

The work it took to carry the meat and keep it clean over the journey back had been worth the trouble once they started cooking it all up back home. The entire cave smelled of sizzling meats and dried spices and campfire wood smoke for days on after.

They even had enough left over to make tons of dried jerky, while a large piece of leathered hide was treated so they could be used for various purposes later on.

Nearly three days after the hunt, Ash was prepping him to go back out to practice at their little archery range. A flurry of blinding wind and fat snowflakes greeted them outside the door. Ash took one look at it all and slammed the door shut, closing them off from the abrasive weather. Her face was stony when she pivoted back around to face him. There were white flakes in her hair, and already melting. He eyed her questioningly.

"Snow?"

"She's back."

It was such a simple statement, said in such a matter-of-fact yet grim and ominous tone. Ash made it sound like the weight of the world was on her shoulders in those two words. There was more to be said, he could read it in her face. She didn't hold back this time.

"Himiko's back."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The blizzard kept them confined for nearly four days.

Correction: it kept _him_ confined for nearly four days. Ash, predictably, took her leave to brave the wintry world beyond—to hunt, provide fuel for the fires, and scavenge other materials like plants for medicines, poultices, salves. The pickings were slim, however, as most of the plants died in the sudden cold snap prior to the blizzard's sudden appearance.

Allen felt guilty with her going out there all alone again, but she insisted he stay, and that the winter would keep the animals from leaving their nests and dens. If he had left, she told him, he would have gotten lost, frostbite, hypothermia, worse. Then she promptly allowed the raptors to have free reign of the cave and he was left with their company until she returned. He never felt relaxed with the pack hanging around without her presence, but after the second day, he came to find that Ash's word had been true: they never laid a talon on him. They watched him, of course, with their sharp avian gazes, but not once did they try to harm him. When they weren't staring him down, they wanted nothing to do with him, in fact. He found he was quite fine with that.

On the morning the storm had finally broken, the entire island of Yamatai was blanketed in a solid, crisp layer of snow. It was so white; it hurt the eyes if he stared at it for too long. The raptors, at first, didn't venture out into the winter wonderland. They trilled uncertainly at the presence of it, dancing on the spot with a nervousness colouring their movements. Only when Ash shoved one of them into the mess did they begin venturing out. They peeped at one another and chittered loudly back at Ash like baby chicks, seeking her approval of the strange world they had awoken to. She watched with a small smile on her lips. It was the first time she looked even remotely tranquil, despite her admission days prior about Himiko's return. It was only when she looked at him did her smile drop and her face settled back into its usual neutral tone.

"What're you smiling at?"

He made a small noise and realized, yes. He was smiling too.

"I don't think I've ever seen you genuinely smile like that before," he confessed. "Not that there's a problem with you _not_ smiling…but you also looked relaxed. You don't ever seem to be anything except tense most of the time."

She studied him for a time, looking unperturbed by the frigid air temperature surrounding them. He wanted to get back inside, where it was warm and cozy by the fire. Allen shoved his hands into his armpits, hugging himself tightly. She turned away to watch the raptors with a sigh, her breath misting in the air. They were rolling around in the snow now, pouncing on one another in giddy play. It was like watching giant birds prancing about in a winter wonderland. And they really did look like birds, when they didn't open their mouths and he couldn't see their teeth. It was deceptively inviting to want to dive into the snow and play right alongside them. They were almost… _cute_.

"I don't exactly have time to be relaxed," she said at last. "It leads to complacency. Complacency kills in this place."

She didn't turn her head, but she had shifted her gaze to look at him from the corner of her eye.

"In an hour, I'm going out to see if anyone's been stranded on the island. Not unlike you, in fact. You can choose to come with me, or you can stay. I'm warning you though, there will be blood when the Solarii start coming out of the woodworks soon enough. So, I highly suggest you stay here. They won't show the same reservations you would. They'll shoot at you or try to gut you with a blade and most of them won't make it a quick and painless death. They won't show mercy. They never do."

She left him with that said, ducking back into the cave to give him ample time to think. Think about what she's preparing to do. Think about how calm and collected she was when she spoke of killing.

 _She's been doing this for far too long,_ he thought. _She's been_ here _too long. Is this all she knows?_

He followed her back inside shortly after, and found her gathering supplies from the room that has otherwise been locked up. Sheaths and holsters were strapped onto her, weapons were set aside until needed. A small pouch made of furs was laid out as well, and she pushed in several items he recognized as medical kits. She was busy snapping bracers onto her wrists as Allen ventured closer. He hadn't seen all of her weaponry out like this in a long while. Not since he had first arrived and saw the impressive variety she had on hand. She'd made a decent attempt at hiding it all from view, except for her rack of booby-trapped rifles and the bows they used for practice or hunting.

When Ash buckled on the bracers, she flicked her hands back a little and in response, a thin blade spiked out, long and deadly. When she rolled her hands down, the blade slicked back into the bracer. She caught him watching and assessed him with a calm gaze.

"In that room, you'll find extra sleeping gear. Can I trust you to get it all laid out? I don't know how many I might find, but I have a feeling it's going to be a big group."

"How can you know?"

"A gut feeling," she reiterated pointedly, ticking a brow up that was actually a silent challenge for him to try and argue with her. He decided not to. She returned to checking her weapons and suddenly, he felt as though he was staring at Master Cross, always keeping his weapon in good condition by breaking it down and cleaning it, ensuring it wouldn't fail him, not even once.

Her movements were smooth as she took apart a pistol with practiced, almost lazy, ease. Right down to its smallest bits, she was checking for signs of rust or warping and after a quick wipe-down of the carbon within, she was snapping it all back together. She repeated the process for the rifle and the shotgun, and after that was completed, she was stringing a bow together that he'd never seen before.

The wood bowed into a signature curve as the string pulled taut, and he noticed the intricate carvings in the wood, small and lovingly detailed with care. He knew she made all her own bows; she even made his first one for him, before she had him trying to craft his own. He suddenly felt his current one was sloppy and shoddy in comparison. Clearly, she really had been doing this for too long, if she was so universally focused on crafting something of such beauty and then turning it into a killing weapon.

He stewed on this fact as she finished her inventory, stocked up on arrows and bullets, and slung on her pouch of extra supplies. He stirred when she looked to him one last time. "The raptors will be with me, but if you need someone to stay back…"

"Wait…" he sucked in a breath and for a moment, the tension between them was thick, like a crack of thunder. "More ground could be covered if I went out and helped—how hard could it be?"

"Extremely, when they're trying to set you on fire with a Molotov. Or putting a bullet or arrow in your back or worse, _your head_ , when you aren't looking," she deadpanned back, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. "Plus, you're sense of direction is terrible."

"Then I'll take one of the raptors—but I can't stand sitting here, doing nothing while an innocent person is being gunned down!"

" _You_ are an innocent person and I will _not_ have you running around without any training with my pack, risking your skinny little neck," she fired right back, looking belligerently adamant on her decision.

He hesitated, taken aback for only a split moment. A bloom of red-hot anger gnawed away at his stomach like acid, before he calmed himself. She was trying to get a rise out of him, he realized. And getting angry would only justify her need to keep him back. Then, very softly, after he had a moment to breathe and think, he said "I was a soldier for a secret war back—back in my time, I've told you this before, but not in great detail. I fought…monsters; I suppose you could call them, but that's not entirely accurate. They were really machines, made from the souls of the dead that stole the bodies of the living who tried to bring them back."

Allen glanced at his left hand, at the cross imbedded in the back of it, the lankiness of his arm, the knobbed knuckles, the redness of his skin. Almost like he'd dipped his entire arm in a vat of dark red ink and it had set in at its permanent dark hue. Hair didn't even grow there. He remembered when it had been, once upon a time, mottled like scales, and it was coloured the same deep red it was now, like rusted blood. So much has changed and in such a very short time in his life. He wasn't even looking at her when he continued speaking.

"I did the same thing, once. I tried bringing back someone. I was one of the lucky few who got away alive, but not unscathed. It was only by this hand that I…I came out of it alive. I was taken in and trained by the people who fought these machines that we call 'Akuma'." He finally looked back at her, somewhat relieved that the tension in her frame had eked away, even if only a little. "I know how to fight. I know how to survive. I just…found myself a little disoriented for a lot longer than I would have liked. I might not raise a weapon to kill someone, like you have in the past, but I won't stand idly by while someone else suffers. I made a promise to protect and save human beings."

 _And the Akuma,_ he couldn't help but think, resisting the urge to wince. _But that didn't go so well, given I'm here and not where I should be. This is the very least I can do._

"Please," he continued with a hiss of pleading in his voice. "Please don't make me stand by and do nothing. Don't leave me to sit and worry in this damned cave. I want to help. And I can communicate well enough in sign language, can't I? The raptors, they seem to understand the basics that you've taught me well enough. They can keep me from getting lost."

She said nothing and did nothing for what he felt was an eternity. It grew until he wanted to squirm under her unreadable, mismatched gaze. Finally, she made a flicker of movement and it was her tail first, sweeping back and forth in a lazy arc. He highly doubted she was wagging. She turned away and headed for the entrance of their homestead and at first; he thought she was going to leave him without a word, like she's done so many times before. He darted after her, a cry on his lips, but she simply opened the door and whistled.

One of the raptors came charging in, braying loudly enough to hurt Allen's ears. Golden, glittering avian eyes stared at him as the raptor towered over him, shaking its violet-and-grey shaggy-feathered skull and dipping its long neck to peer at Ash when she stepped into view. It was the very same raptor that had chased him away the day he'd been bitten by that pack of Compies. She reached and offered her hand, palm up, toward the raptor. In turn, the raptor hissed softly, snapping its jaws, as though making to bite her, only to retract at the last moment before pressing its snout into her palm. She gave the snout a light scratch and withdrew.

"You said you wanted to know the raptors as I liked to call them. This is Mana. He'll accompany you. Don't die," she said sharply before her gaze softened by a surprising margin. "I would really rather not have to build a funeral pyre for you."

Her words and softer gaze was all lost on him, unfortunately, as soon as she named the raptor before them. A painful, hard knot had coiled itself in the pit of his stomach and another made its home in the base of his throat. It hurt to breath and it hurt worse to try and talk, his jaws had wired themselves shut so tightly.

"Mana," he finally managed to repeat, his chest aching. The soft gaze disappeared and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The raptor homed it— _his_ —gaze on Allen as well and grew eerily silent on cue. No purrs, no hisses, nothing. Just pure, utter silence.

"Is there a problem?"

"No," he said, thick molasses covering his tongue and making it feel alien and strange in his mouth. "No. No problem. I…thank you. For giving me a chance."

What else could he say, other than that? He'd revealed too much, and it was enough heartache. Saying anything else that involved his adoptive father would have been the one thing that would rip it open all anew.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He was lucky so far. No Solarii harassed him as he and Mana the Dakotaraptor trespassed through territory that had once again become theirs. Not yet, anyway.

He was doubly lucky when he came across a group of kids, roughly his age, maybe older. Two boys, two girls, and…one rather strange-looking animal that looked a strange cross between a white bear and a dog. And all five were currently being stared down at like they were an on-the-move meal for Báthory.

The old tyrannosaurus had her jaws parted, her teeth bared, and her beady golden eyes zeroed in on them. Her feet were buried in the snow, although she didn't seem entirely bothered in the wintry world around them. Why she hadn't attacked could be anyone's guess and Allen was hoping it was because she knew they weren't really meals. Ash always said that while the old girl wasn't smart like her raptors, she was still a few shades of intelligent, like a dog. Báthory huffed and puffed, letting out harsh little growls but so far, she hadn't advanced. That was good.

That was good, right?

Mana was already zooming forward, cough-barking the entire time, and it instantly brought Báthory's enormous head to snap away from the kids and onto the raptor. Báthory narrowed her eyes and growled, as though in loathing at being interrupted. Likewise, the kids turned as well, startled, and the white dog-bear creature snarled, but Mana ignored them all. Instead, the raptor hopped up on a fallen tree trunk, kicking up flurries of soft snow as he did. The raptor was agile and nimble as he traversed across the length of the fallen tree until he was nose-to-nose with the old tyrannosaur, chittering softly to her.

The kids watched in fascination, as opposed to their abject horror at being stared down by a very large, very heavy, and easily angered predator. Allen came trotting into the clearing, drawing their attention further away from the cumbersome predators. One of the boys cried out in relief, wearing such a huge and genuine grin on his face, that Allen couldn't help but return it.

"Oh, another _person_! I thought we'd never see anyone else again!"

"Bolin, we've only been here for an hour," one of the girls, a rather gorgeous dark-haired beauty, remarked lightly. She glanced back at Báthory thoughtfully and warily before she added, "Although, an hour seems long enough to me."

"Try a few months," Allen quipped back, and he almost winced at the slightly shocked expressions. "Sorry about Báthory. She's…not much of a people person."

"More like a people person- _eater_! I thought that thing was going to try and chow down on us any minute. It showed up out of nowhere! How can something that big hide so well, especially with all this snow?"

Allen smiled wryly at that. If they thought Báthory had surprised them, then he wondered how shocked they'd be if they had run into Carmilla or even a Carnotaurus.

"What kind of animal is that, even? I've never seen one before."

Allen turned to the taller of the two boys, who was regarding him with a narrow-eyed, golden gaze. He was somewhat reminded of Ash, almost, if only for the colour of his eyes.

"She's a Tyrannosaurus Rex. A dinosaur."

He was given blank stares all around.

"A…what-a-saur-what rex?" The other girl asked, brunette and blue-eyed, her brows furrowed curiously.

He could already imagine how Ash would have handled this. She would have told them to be grateful that Báthory hadn't eaten them and to shut up and follow her. Allen decided not to go that route.

"She's a very big animal that likes to eat meat, if her teeth hadn't announced it loudly enough. We could certainly leave it at that and leave her be. She'll be less inclined to attack now that I'm here."

Or maybe it's really because of the Dakotaraptor conversing with her now. Allen wasn't going to sit there and debate about it. The four cast doubtful looks behind them, but relief swelled rapidly in the group when Báthory turned away from them all with a fine-tuned low rumble in her chest. Mana came trotting back toward them on light, sickled feet. He jumped when the white bear-dog snarled at him and hissed menacingly right back, feathers ruffling and his crest rising high.

"Naga, don't! Easy, it's okay girl," the blue-eyed girl turned toward the bear-dog in an instant, soothing the white animal. Mana hissed, softer this time, backing away slowly toward Allen.

"Mana," he called, his voice timorous for a moment as he uttered the name. He cleared his throat and forced his way past the hard lump. "Mana. Leave them alone. Come on."

The raptor expressed one last disgruntled hiss, but the ruffled feathers began to gloss back down and his crest slowly but surely pressed flatly against his skull. Allen repeated the message, this time adding in the stilted sign language for emphasis, his voice stronger as he spoke.

"We have to move quickly," Allen said to the four, when he was sure Mana wouldn't attack. "There are men on this island—they'll want to kill you if they catch you. And there are more dinosaurs that even I can't make back down. Worse ones. I know a safe place, my friend…she's looking for anyone else that might have been stranded—"

Allen was promptly interrupted when their questions began piercing the air.

"Wait, we're on an island?!"

"How did we get here?"

"What do you mean, ' _stranded_ '—?"

And just as Allen had been interrupted, Mana promptly inserted his own equivalence of a voice and screamed at them all until they clapped hands over ears and waited as everyone else's words died down. Mana chittered and hissed angrily at the four humans while the bear-dog growled back. Then the raptor pinned Allen with a glare so steadfast, Allen would have mistaken the animal for almost human if he hadn't known better.

It was a gaze that all but said, " _Get them under control and_ let's go."

He found himself nodding back without even realizing it before he turned back toward the group. He raised his hands in a placating manner, trying to appear as amicable as possible, but he wasn't sure how well he was succeeding now. Not with a bow and a quiver full of arrows strapped to his back.

"I know you have questions, and while I don't have all the answers, we can try to accommodate you, keep you safe until we can get you back to where you belong."

"Republic City!" The shorter and broader of the two boys said automatically. Allen took pause at that.

"I'm…not familiar with a Republic City, but…I'm sure we can find it."

He offered another smile, and it came so easily, he was actually surprised. Mana snort-huffed at Allen impatiently, riddled with nervous energy as he danced on the spot. Allen motioned at the raptor with a flick of his hands and Mana took off, gliding away on fleet feet through the snow, leading the way.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The radio at his hip chirped and hissed with static intermittently. Occasionally, he'd catch snippets of radio chatter from the Solarii. He had sent a brief message to Ash, telling her he found five survivors—he had to include the dog-bear creature—and was on his way back with them. He was worried when he didn't receive a reply. A knot had coiled itself into a hard, painful ball in the pit of his stomach when the relative radio silence dragged on. What if the Solarii had caught wind of his message instead? Ash had warned him about that, time and again.

" _Allen._ "

He was so startled at the sound of someone calling his name, he thought it had come from one of the others. They only stared at him in confusion before he realized where it had really come from. Only after Mana snapped at his fingers and glared at him in that "big and angry bird of prey" kind of way, did he move at last.

He hurriedly unclipped the radio and depressed the talk button.

"Ash? Ash, is that you?"

" _Allen. I found ten survivors and…a flying lemur._ "

"…a flying lemur?"

" _Ten survivors. And a flying lemur,_ " she confirmed, the edges of her voice strangely dripping with dry humour. " _I managed to catch some Solarii chatter earlier. There's more near where you're at; keep your eyes and ears peeled. I'll try to get down to your end as soon as I get these kids to safety. If it doesn't happen, just keep them safe. Get them back home. Good luck._ "

Allen stiffened at that and found himself nodding. Ash had taken more to the southern end of the island, near the coastal forests, while he had taken the core of the island, in the mountains and surrounding forested areas.

"Right…I'll see you when I see you, then," he sighed back, frowning heavily. "Good luck."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

A Dilophosaurus didn't look like much at first glance: Long-necked, boxy body, long tail; it was perhaps about three to four meters long, if even that. That was maybe the only intimidating factor about it: its relatively large size compared to the average human. The most unusual aspect of it was the ruffled skin around its neck and of course, the bony crest adorning its skull. It trilled and chirped like a bird, and despite the toothy maw, it sniffed about, rooting up snow to get at the forest foliage below like a harmless little bird as well. Allen knew better than to trust that deceptively cute façade.

Bolin cooed at the animal before Allen shushed him. The Dilo snapped its head up at the noise, beady eyes scanning the area and giving a cursory sniff. Allen was glad they weren't downwind of the animal; it would have caught their scent long before they came across it.

"Don't do that," he hissed fervently as they hid beneath a decline in the hill behind a rotting log. "They're venomous! They'll spit it in your eyes and you'll go blind; and worse, they'll eat you when you're still alive and aware!"

Bolin turned almost as green as his clothes at that. Mako, the golden-eyed and dark-haired boy, appeared appropriately sickened at the thought as well and narrowed his eyes as he raised himself up high enough to stare down where the Dilo had been. He sucked breath between clenched teeth in surprise and asked, "Where'd it go?"

Korra, the girl with the blue eyes and dark brown hair, balled her hands into fists. Asami looked alarmed, her pretty green eyes scanning their backsides first. Naga rumbled a low growl deep in her chest. Mana was eerily silent, but he had his jaws parted in a quiet threatening display. He curled close to Allen, blocking his body from the forest and pressing him closer still toward the other four. The raptor simply radiated heat, and Allen was bumped several times by the raptor's feathery flank.

Mana was their first and foremost warning system. He screamed and leapt without warning, tackling a body that had been trying to creep up on them. The raptor gave another primal scream that promised blood and pain and it was the pure raw wild made incarnate, a deep rooted instinct that refused to back down and quiver like prey animal. The Dilo screamed in a shrill voice right back, and a crest of brightly coloured skins around its neck flared up, rattling loudly. It suddenly didn't appear as cute anymore, not with that threatening display leering back at them all. The flap of skin made it look so much larger, especially with the big, black spots ringed in bright colours that made them look like eyes.

Before Allen could move or summon his Crown Clown, Korra leapt into the fray, taking up a fighting stance. She moved fluidly into another stance, and suddenly, the snow rose up to meet her bidding, liquefying instantaneously before rushing forward to encase the Dilophosaurus, venomous head and all into a block of sparkling clear ice.

Anger and surprise read clearly in the animal's expression, the Dilo's jaws parted in another gaping display, its colourful neck crest fully splayed and clawed front limbs raised up, as though to grab hold and slash up. Korra looked appropriately smug when Mana peeped back at her, his feathers rising high in the sky. The raptor trilled, marching forward with uncertainty colouring his body language as he sniffed cautiously at the block of ice that encompassed the Dilo. He snorted appreciatively after only a few moments of inspection, hopping along in the snow back to where Allen was, purring contentedly.

"Uh…that happened. That—that really happened," he finally concluded, sharing a look with the raptor. Mana snorted in his face as though to say, " _Yes. Yes it did._ "

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	8. Chapter Eight: Shadows on the Wall

**Chapter Eight:  
Shadows on the Wall**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _Storms coming down  
Everybody's running for cover  
Rain's coming down in buckets  
I can smell the thunder  
Sky's heavy with the color of blood  
Shadows on the wall  
Make it all the more distracting  
I can feel it all  
Watch it fall from the ceiling  
Out of my hands  
_ **-"** _ **Running for Cover**_ **" by Noah Gundersen**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Their homestead was simply bursting with new life and that didn't include the raptors that had come to occupy the space. Children and adults alike, some were curled next to their fire pit, most were encircling Ash in a ring. Two raptors, both he recognized as Spectre and Clover, flanked her. Their voices were amplified in the cave, sounding loud and distorted to the ear. When he and the others entered, the chatter dropped away for only a moment, eyes turning one-by-one to look at them all. Apparently, from the lack of recognition in everyone's faces, his party and the one Ash had recovered didn't know one another. But their clothing styles were recognizably similar, if the colour coordination was anything to go by.

Allen caught Ash's eye, even if it was just a few seconds' worth of time. She had her mask back in place, implacable and immoveable to bear the brunt of verbal force assaulting her. When her eyes flicked back to the assorted people circling her, her ears flicked. The raptors hissed in unison at the single motion. It drew another bout of silence, stunned this time around. The werewolf carefully crossed her arms defensively over her chest, peering back at them with her eerie mismatched eyes. They simply glittered in the firelight.

"Whatever concerns you might have right now, they don't matter. You'll get off the island, you can be sure of that," she said, her voice raised loud enough to permeate the chatter elsewhere. Eyes drifted to pin themselves to her, and she surveyed everyone once, before stepping away from the circle. The raptors followed, and the people around her split apart to allow her past them.

"If there is anyone— _anyone at all_ —that you believe is still missing from your respective parties, speak up now. I don't trust the Solarii will be idle despite the weather, and I don't trust the weather either, because it _will_ change on a dime. This island is full of surprises, and almost ninety-percent of them want to kill anyone who ends up here."

"And how long have you been here, if you don't mind my inquiry," a new voice spoke up to match her volume. Everyone diverted their attention, turning to view an elderly man with snowy-white hair and beard, sitting complacently beside the fire. His robes were muted reds, hands hidden away from sight in the large sleeves. His golden eyes were calm and patient, and his face was set solemnly as he studied Ash.

"About a few hundred years, at least." Ash answered without hesitation, meeting the old man's gaze evenly. A few of the onlookers looked shocked and even doubtful. Strangely, Allen noted, there was no fear in hearing her claims.

"So you've seen many of us wash up on the beaches of this place," the old man continued, his tone piqued with genuine interest. Several of the others seemed to be paying more attention as well, regarding the werewolf in a new light. She, for the most part and rather predictably, ignored their stares.

"Plenty. Not all of them survive the currents or the storms that toss them here. Others, they run into the Solarii and if they aren't recruited, they're killed on sight. The males have a chance of survival, so long as they don't fight back. The females and children alike have none whatsoever." She averted her gaze, driving home the point with it as she swept her eyes over everyone. "I'm your only friend right now. I don't care if you don't like me. Get over it. I haven't put an arrow in your heart or a bullet in your head. That should say plenty when compared to the Solarii. Give me names or descriptions of missing party members. I'll do another sweep of the island, take out the source of the unnatural weather, and fix the boat that'll send you on your way to civilization."

"Source of the weather—what's that mean?"

"Is there a bender causing all this?"

Allen watched as the rise of new questions began to reach a peak. Clover and Spectre cough-barked and brayed loudly to calm them all down momentarily. Some of the group looked annoyed at the animals, but they didn't venture any closer to the werewolf, not while she was still flanked by them. They looked appropriately cautious of the very large animals.

"That undead bitch Himiko—she's the source. I aim to take her out. Any more questions? Yes? Too bad."

She twirled a finger in the air.

"I want names and-slash-or descriptions. I'm leaving in ten minutes."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Hungry eyes yearning for answers turned on him as soon as Ash left. She took all but one raptor with her, leaving him with Clover. The garishly green-and-grey feathered raptor prowled close to him, staying within reach, although it didn't exactly comfort him. He was blissfully distracted from her as questions rattled about in the air, some voices more patient and others more demanding. During the rounds, he realized how little he truly knew. Allen knew it was his lack of real interaction with the Solarii, and for the most part, he was grateful for it. The few tales Ash told him were chilling enough. The Solarii had been willing to try and burn a heavily pregnant woman for one of their 'rituals' several years ago and if Ash hadn't intervened, two innocent lives would have been lost that day. They had no qualms killing children, either.

When Allen repeated the story to their guests, it was enough to deter some of them from asking anything else. The elderly man that remained by the fire was gazing deep into the flames, his face stony and troubled. The others chatted amongst themselves, softly and with a nervous energy electrifying the air.

He lost track of time, felt like he was in a stupor as he helped direct those who had other questions besides those about Yamatai when the ground shuddered unexpectedly beneath him. Allen felt like he was about to jump out of his skin at the jolt, believing it to be an earthquake. The island has experienced several in the past few months and they were never pleasant. The grating noise of stone against stone met his ears and he looked up hurriedly to see if the ceiling was caving in on them. He was surprised when he saw nothing falling from up above and instead, it was the floor that was rippling beneath his feet. He had about a two-second warning before he went flying onto his backside, the air knocked from his lungs and spots dancing in his vision when his head struck the ground. Moments or hours later—either would have suited him fine, the time seemed to pass all the same—he felt hands pulling him up to his feet. Vaguely, he thought heard someone snickering.

"Toph, what are you doing?!"

A young girl, drabbed in thick blue clothing trimmed in what Allen suspected to be white fur, was helping him sit up. She patted his back a few times, telling him softly to breathe slowly and checked the back of his head with gentle touches. When she declared him fine, her voice turned sharp as steel, her once-previously soft blue-eyed gaze hardening to glare at another girl. Dark hair was pinned into a bulbous bob at the back and her clothing was a mixture of greens and golds that denoted a more earthy tone to her attire. She was barefoot and grinning smugly.

"I'm fixing up this dump. I've slept in campsites nicer than this."

"This isn't our home, you know!"

"And that lady will thank us when we're done. Or she'll thank me, actually," the girl responded with a shrug and a smug grin. "Besides, there's smoke in the air. It's everywhere, in case you haven't noticed. That's not exactly good, if you don't have proper ventilation and this place just doesn't have it. I dunno about you, but I don't plan on choking to death on it all."

The girl dropped into a fighting stance—or what Allen assumed to be one—before thrusting her arms out and the ground beneath her—it rippled and shook itself like a beast. Clover shrieked as her feathers began puffing up, avian eyes wide and wild at the sight. Allen was up on his feet in an instant, more worried what Clover might do to the girl rather than what the girl was doing to the cave. She seemed more in control of herself and whatever she was doing than the raptor was.

"Easy, Clover, stand down, it's all right!"

He glanced over his shoulder for only a moment, watching in utter fascination as the stone itself thrust forward, changing shape from relatively flat rock to cornered edges. It rippled and contorted, folding in on itself at the girl's will. Then he turned away from the sight, calming Clover and easing her away from the girl. He didn't want to test whether the raptor was frightened or felt threatened by the startling revelation going on behind him. All he cared more about was the safety of everyone in the cave than watching it unfold in a nonplussed manner.

He could sense the palpable tension all around him, thick like molasses and then some. He was almost tempted to leave for the time being. He wanted to feign ignorance. Ash was a very particular person and she didn't seem to take to changes she didn't like all too well. She had taken her sweet time getting used to the idea of _him_ living there, after all.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"What the _fuck_ did you do my home?"

For all the quietness and unpredictability she tried to conjure up about herself, that statement alone was one of the most predictable things Allen could have seen coming a mile away.

She stared, for once in a true-blue and appropriately flabbergasted manner, her eyes thoroughly whisking over everything without missing any details. She was taking in the changes of her home with open shock.

The cave floor had been smoothed over and leveled out completely. Before, it had been rough and unsteady, rippled and chipped away in several places. The campfire's old place had been crudely carved into the floor near the center of the cave's main chamber, perhaps by Ash's own claws. Now, there was a neat and orderly depression in the stone floor to accommodate a more proper pit. The embers could stay in one place without constant monitoring. The makeshift wooden balcony that had been created as a crude yet haphazard second deck had been disassembled and was no longer there. The planks were still useful and were more or less symmetrical and not warped. They had been rearranged around the fire pit, acting as an upraised platform deck.

Allen believed Ash must have scavenged the pieces from one of the many old homes on the island to put them to better use. How she managed to get them to stick into the rock face, however, was a mystery best left for another time. The old impressions in the walls were gone as well, thanks to the young girl, Toph.

Further on, in front of the wooden deck, there was a proper stove, grafted right into the very wall. From the back of the stove, a ventilation shaft crawled up the length of the wall and into the ceiling. Allen assumed that the shaft poured out the smoke into the open air somewhere.

Then there were the rooms. There were _actual_ _rooms_ and not just holes in the wall crammed with things that were meant to resemble rooms. There were almost a dozen now; the entire homestead had been expanded. His own room had been no exception, gaining more square feet so that he could actually move around in it. Ash's room had been expanded as well, he had seen when he had gone exploring. The guest rooms were no longer as cramped as they used to be, and he helped drag several mattresses from the storage room out into them. They didn't have bed frames for any them, but once it was pointed out to Toph, she quickly alleviated that oversight and crafted frames out of the surrounding rock. There were more proper shelves in the rooms too, if there weren't any bureaus or dressers to store things away into.

Everything had been transformed. Allen could hardly recognize the place. Clover certainly wasn't happy.

And from the look on Ash's face and in her golden eyes—

Wait. They were both gold now.

Something was wrong.

Her eyes were never both gold, not usually. They were normally mismatched—blue-grey in the right and her other eye was always gold. The only times he could recall witnessing both her eyes matching was when she was angry or upset. Allen was sure the changes to her home were enough to throw her off, but not by this wide of a margin. Not unless she was incredibly attached to the derelict décor of her home, but he doubted that very much. Or so he hoped.

When her golden eyes landed on him, he nearly flinched.

"You didn't stop them?"

Her words could have cleaved bone right in half, if her voice had the powers to.

He was infinitely grateful she couldn't.

"What was I supposed to do, knock them out?"

" _Yes_."

This time he did wince; both at the gruff tone she carried and the callousness in which she answered him with. The others grumbled to themselves. Toph especially seemed annoyed that her "hard work" wasn't being appreciated and complained loudly about it too. Sokka, the older brother of Katara—the girl who had helped him when he fell over earlier—replied that sometimes genius ideas just weren't valued at first sight like they should be. Momo, the flying lemur, gurgled and stared.

Some of the others in the group ignored the scowling werewolf's comments entirely, and instead focused on the people behind her. They trailed inside the homestead, slowly but surely, taking in the sight of the place as they ventured further in. Even Allen had been too distracted by her thunderous expression to take proper notice at first.

Several of those around the newly crafted campfire pit sprang up and rushed forward, seeing someone they recognized. Allen ducked out of the way in time, finding himself stuck beside Ash. She glowered sullenly around at the changes, her ears pressed flush to her skull. The Dakotaraptors had slunk in behind the group, rejoining the woman at her backside. Even Clover came skulking around, hooting softly as she assessed the growing numbers.

"You're not really angry at the improvements, are you?" He asked softly.

She snorted roughly, her nostrils flaring and her eyes still burning like molten gold.

"It doesn't improve the mood," she all but growled out. Her eyes flicked to the man hugging a woman and all his children, smiling in relief. When his smile faded as he looked over their faces, he turned to her, a wordless question in his eyes. He turned to a woman at his side and Allen thought he heard him asking for someone named 'Jinora'.

Ash looked away, arms crossing over her chest. She looked more troubled and upset as well as angry. "I'm going back out. One of the kids got taken."

Alarm rattled Allen's core.

"What?"

"Get me three quivers packed. I'm going back out to get her."

"I'm coming with you."

The words surprised both him and her. He hadn't even put thought into his words when he said them. They simply came, accompanying his instinctual urge to help like an old friend. She narrowed her eyes at him while her lips pressed thinly together. An argument was already forming in her head, he could see it in her eyes. He beat her to the punch, holding up his hand to quiet her before she could start.

"Don't. Please. Don't tell me no. I've already made up my mind. You can't stop me. I'm going to help, in any way I can."

He glared right back when she didn't answer, and her expression didn't dissipate either. She didn't look all that surprised, merely contemplative. For a few seconds, he thought she was going to argue against it. When she tilted her head in a motion that said to follow her, he almost fell over in astonishment. She usually would have argued, but this was a welcome change. His shock quickly turned into elation and relief.

"Better you watching my back than them. Hurry up and get your gear. We leave in five."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They didn't stay long enough to be cornered and questioned by the others, especially the man who was clearly the one whose child had been stolen by the Solarii. They didn't even get a chance to know about the plan. There was too much going on for their guests to realize that he and Ash had slipped out. Allen felt guilty leaving them to wonder where their hosts went, at leaving them alone. He had almost brought it up to Ash, but he quickly retracted the urge to say something almost immediately. She didn't want to talk about getting things done, she wanted to just go out and do them. Waiting for others to contemplate a plan was wasting time in her eyes.

"Do you think it's all right if we leave them alone?"

"They'll be fine when we get this girl back."

"How can you be so sure?"

She gave him a rather pointed look that said without words how stupid a question that was. He felt his face flush angrily at the way she looked at him. She didn't need to speak to get him worked up. What a gift.

"It's a valid question!"

"Is it really?" She drawled back flatly. The raptors were following them, silent as ever as they disappeared and reappeared amongst the foliage. It was still incredibly eerie to him how noiseless they could become, like they weren't even there. He was sure if they truly wanted that they could get right behind an enemy and kill them without their prey ever being the wiser. It was a truly terrifying thought to consider.

Allen was very glad that they were on his and Ash's side.

They were hurrying into the pine forest that overlooked the shantytown, the raptors resuming their flight in and out of sight further out around them. He caught glimpses of the royal palace in the distance, gleaming gold under the late afternoon sun.

"Where is she being held?"

"They're planning the burning at sundown in the caves beneath the palace. We have to hurry if we want to save the kid."

"The burning?!"

The way she spoke about it so calmly alarmed him. Then he realized how fires couldn't harm her. It certainly belied her blandness about the whole ordeal. He wondered if the Solarii had ever tried burning her, only to find her immune to the flames. Then he realized the child they were after was going to die if they didn't move fast.

"It's all a part of the ritual that Himiko would use to choose her next successor, remember? They would use a fire ritual. The worthy successor was spared of the flames."

"And…the unworthy?"

His stomach clenched into a hard pitted ball, coiling uncomfortably. She didn't look at him as they took a pause at the base of the pine forest, the shantytown laid out before them. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she scanned the improvised hovel town of the Solarii, seeing things he clearly wasn't.

"Use your imagination."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They didn't trigger any alarms or cause a disturbance. He was only half surprised. Ash has been at this so long, that having him tag along was only a secondary thought. Leading him where she needed, telling him when to stop, go, move, jump—she barely thought on any of it. It was as though she was merely directing another one of her raptors. They too waited on most of her directions, but took initiative where they received no direction. He did much the same, and she had yet to correct him. Perhaps she approved.

They managed to take out any who would sound off the alarm. She and the raptors would end the Solarii. Allen would merely knock them out. The raptors were truly unnervingly efficient and coordinated in their attacks. It was almost to the point that Allen couldn't believe they were merely animals conducting such complicated movements. They were terrifyingly intelligent, using distraction and feint attacks to corral their chosen victims where they wanted them to go.

The raptors followed him and Ash up to a point until she had to dismiss them. They were just beneath the great bridge that led to the palace grounds proper. Allen continued dogging her footsteps. They skirted the sheer cliffs directly beneath the palace, right into a tucked away cave entrance that led to a flooded walkway. He could barely keep his head above water, being the taller one. She simply couldn't. He could only make out her ears, poking through the surface of the water as she bobbed along ahead of him. He had to stifle his laughter at how comical it all looked in spite of the gravity of their situation that's led them to do this.

When they managed to clear the watery walkway, she gave him a rather sour look that told him she heard his failed attempts to keep from laughing. He didn't bother hiding his grin.

"I just realized something," he whispered as they crept up a decrepit staircase. "You're much shorter than I am."

"I just realized, I don't care," she spat back, although there wasn't as much ire to her voice as he had been expecting. "I can still kick your ass a hundred ways to Tuesday. So please choose your next words with care when you decide to try and get a rise out of me."

She didn't sound angry. Just annoyed.

That alone told him he'd stabbed at one button or another, however tiny. He continued beaming smugly at her backside as they ascended a rubbly staircase, right up until her still-sopping wet tail smacked him square in the face.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They could hear the Solarii long before they saw them.

They were chanting, it almost sounded like. Upon further inspection as they ventured closer, he reassessed that original observation. They weren't chanting. They were _praying_.

They were praying to Himiko.

A clear voice cut through the din sharply, like a hot knife through butter, and the praying quit entirely in favour of silence. It crashed over them louder than the praying had. Ash growled deeply in the pit of her chest, a soft rumble that made the very air around her seem to tremble.

"That's Mathias. He's going to start the ceremony any moment," she flicked her eyes to him and they were still both gold and glinting like an animal's in light. "I'm going to draw their attention. Wait ten seconds. Get the girl and get her out of here. Do you understand me?"

He nodded fervently and it was enough for her. Ash drew herself up and stepped out around the rock bend and into the clearing where the Solarii were gathered. He started counting.

Allen didn't make it to three before a horrendous roar drowned out a cry of outrage from Mathias. It was quickly replaced by screams of terror and one clear, consistent statement.

"It's the Fire Walker! RUN!"

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He ran full pelt into hell.

Smoke and ash and embers and roaring flames that took the shapes of wolves and raptors, dragons and eagles, lions and hellhounds and more were in a myriad of multi-coloured flames and they were quickly filling the chamber. Solarii were predictably running away from the fire as it literally chased them hither and thither. He caught a glimpse of the pyre, on the far end of the chamber, pressed flush near what he believed to be a waterfall leading outside the mountain. Bound and gagged to it was a young girl, barely ten if he could judge her age accurately enough. He could see her terror as the flames crept closer. He scanned for a clearing he could chance without running into a swatch of fire, and caught sight of Ash in the middle of the fiery maelstrom.

She seemed to dance in the flames without a care in the world and all her focus went on directing where they went. At times, she wasn't even moving and the fire seemed to move of its own accord, rippling like beasts in their own flesh and blood bodies. Several of them slammed together, a mixture of bright green, soft blue, hot white and blazing red, into a familiar form he was more used to seeing: old Báthory the Tyrannosaurus Rex. The Báthory-lookalike opened her fiery jaws in a silent roar, spear-like teeth flickering and guttering like the flames they truly were. The heat roiling off the flame-beast was intolerable from far back where he stood, he was roasting, sweating. He could only imagine what it was like being right up against the flames.

The Solarii ran in pure, undulating terror, those still present running flat out toward the nearest exit, perhaps back into the palace. Only one man near the pyre stood strong, bearing a spear with a circular saw-blade on its tip. His pale features were hidden beneath a hooded garment, but the effect made him look hellish and sickly in the wake of the flames. Allen assumed that this was Mathias.

He shouted unintelligibly at the werewolf in the middle of the firestorm, swinging the staff in her general direction. The flame-conjured Báthory opened its mouth again in a mock-roar, with only the fire's guttural hiss providing any noise at all. Allen ducked behind heat waves and lashing flames, using it as cover without getting too up close and personal. He felt his skin itch and blister even at this distance. As Allen crept closer, Mathias lashed his staff close towards the girl bound to the pyre, the serrated blade close to her throat. A threat. Allen's blood ran cold. He wasn't close enough and there wasn't a direct path for him to run interference and get the girl.

Ash lunged forward in the blink of an eye, knocking the staff from Mathias's hands with laughable and terrifying ease. Mathias reached for an axe at his side, but Ash was faster—why wouldn't she be? She wasn't bound by the same reflex and speed limitations as the average human was. She slammed the taller man down over her knee, knocked him down with the same fluid ease she'd showed in summoning the fire and crafting it to her will. He went down with a loud grunt of pain, smashing into stone floor with a wheezy gasp. When he flipped onto his back, Ash was leaping again, and she crashed right on top of him, her whole weight slamming onto his much larger frame. Her pawed feet dug mercilessly into his chest. She slammed an open palm against him and then he was suddenly still. At that instant, the fires all died and it was abruptly very dark and quiet in the chamber, except for the roar of a waterfall behind them. The faint glow of the sun pushing through the curtain of water seemed dim in comparison.

The girl bound to the pyre screamed behind her gag, eyes wide as she tried to get free. Allen rushed forward when a lull in the flames came to be, hurriedly and without thinking, he summoned his bladed hand to cut away at the bonds. When she was free, she yanked away the gag and breathed heavily, discordantly, staring with those same wide eyes at Ash. They were wet with tears ready to spill.

"She killed him," she said quietly in a shaky voice. Allen turned and saw the werewolf standing, her arm out. The brace along her forearm and wrist had a blade sticking out from beneath the wrist, coated in fresh blood. He met her eyes and saw they were cool and collected, but they were both still as golden as they were hours ago.

"You need to get her out of here. I can hear them. They're rallying their forces right now and on their way to shoot the place up."

Allen stiffened at that and instinctively glanced at the girl at his side. He offered his right hand to her. She hesitated, taking a passing look at his left hand, still transformed in its bladed form. He smiled at her disarmingly and carefully tucked it from sight to revert it back. "It's all right. We're here to help."

"She _killed_ him," she repeated, glancing at Ash with wide, uncertain eyes. She was pale and shaking, either from the shock of the events or from what's going on now. It was hard to tell.

"And? They were going to burn you alive. Not even I do that to any of the Solarii, no matter how tempting it always is." She gave them both a pointed look and after looking around, Allen saw no other bodies lying about other than Mathias's. She hadn't burned any of the Solarii brothers at all; alive or otherwise. She'd spared them from the flames and had only scared them off. The only one to suffer had been Mathias. Even that had been up close and personal with her blades.

Ash jerked her head at them toward the exit. "Go. Get her back. The pack will be waiting to lead you back." She smiled wanly at him, a glint in her eyes flashing. He couldn't see any blue in her right eye still. "I know how hopeless you are with simple navigation on this island."

He felt his face get red, and he had a response lined up, but the girl grabbed his unchanged hand and tugged him hard, making for the way he and Ash had come in through. Just as they rounded the corner, the gunfire started. He stopped long enough and turned around to see a flash of fire rising, and the shadows on the wall showed a monster briefly rising up to meet the challenge.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	9. Chapter Nine: Feeling Good

**Chapter Nine:  
Feeling Good**

 ** _Note_ : ' _Dying Light_ ' has been posted on my profile; a series of drabbles, word prompts, and one-shots that didn't quite make the cut for ' _Left Behind_ ', but nonetheless were important enough for world-building, character development, and general relationship shenanigans. **

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _It's a new dawn  
It's a new day  
It's a new life  
For me  
And I'm feeling good  
_ **\- "** _ **Feeling Good**_ **" by Nina Simone**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

When child and parent reunited, it almost made up for the near-sullen glares thrown his way the moment he had returned with the girl, Jinora, in tow. Even those with their surly dispositions briefly forgot their ire and relief was put in its place.

The girl was quickly embraced by her father and mother and even her siblings and other assorted family members. Allen endured the return of bitter looks, if only because he hadn't come back empty handed. They were probably not very happy he and Ash had left without consulting with them or allowed them a chance to volunteer with helping in her retrieval. At the very least, none of the raptors had remained to stay after they had led him and Jinora back. They would have sensed the tension still lingering in the air and snapped at it without ceremony or thought. Or they probably would have tried to start a fight with that bear-dog creature or eat the flying lemur that chittered and glided about in the air.

That would have made things more awkward than they already were.

It was just better that none of them were here, period. Their aggressive behavior often times made them chillingly unpredictable.

After the others were assured no other party members were missing—or on the island either—the entire group seemed to settle, if only just barely. He went about trying to make amends, and managed to gain most of everyone's amiable side. If Ash wasn't going to be a proper diplomat in handling affairs with these people, the very least he could do was be that person himself. Of the two of them, he could proudly say he had much better people skills.

The hours ticked by and well into the night and still the werewolf wasn't back. Most of the food from storage had been taken, cooked, and eaten. A good chunk of their guests had retired for the night, but some lingered by the campfire, feeding wood to the flames on occasion. It wasn't until the very late hours when very few were still left awake that Ash had finally returned.

He was only mildly alarmed when he saw that she had streaks of blood and long tears in her clothing, as well as three arrows sprouting from her backside. Her breathing was labored and he reasoned she must have had a lung nicked by way of an arrowhead. He was the first to reach her. Two women, one fairly young and the other a little more aged, both in blue-and-white-trimmed clothing followed in his wake. He recognized the young girl as Katara, and the older woman as Kya. They were some of the few that were still awake and both of them began pulling water from pouches at their sides, the liquid floating midair by their will. There was a mixture of professionalism and worry creasing their faces as they approached.

"How are you still _walking_?" The older woman asked with alarm in her voice. Ash's face pulled into an unwelcome snarl, her eyes flashing in the firelight.

"I'll handle it myself," she growled at them. Kya and Katara were both taken aback and exchanged worried looks. Katara scrunched her face up.

"We're just trying to help you! Is that really such a bad thing for you to need it? You're _injured_!"

"I don't need it from you lot. I'll take care of it myself. Now move over."

Kya had a similarly obstinate look adorning her face as much as Katara did. Yet, she chose a slightly different approach. She spoke a little more gently, coaxingly even. "You can barely breathe and I still can't even comprehend how you're walking around, much less talking. Just let us help get those arrows out of your backside and we can see how bad the damage is—"

"I SAID BACK OFF!"

Silence rang off the cavern's walls. Those still gathered around the campfire turned all eyes on Ash. Kya and Katara, in Allen's opinion, rather admiringly held their ground. When she met his gaze to avert it from the others who were all now staring at her, he saw a completely different message in her eyes: ' _Help me_ '.

The younger of the two had an obstinate look on her face that kept her rooted to the spot. Kya didn't look as likely to retreat either.

"You have _three arrows_ in your _back_!" Katara protested.

"I've also had one in my head before," Ash replied blandly back. Surprise and horror flickered on their faces. Allen himself didn't exactly like the image of an arrow sprouting out of the werewolf's head. She shrugged. "I got better."

Katara opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted before she even started as Ash limped right past her, her shoulders tight and hunched over. She had been dragging a sled with a slab of meat on it. It was only when he took in her entire profile that he realized she also had two more arrows in the back of one of her legs, right in the meaty part. Her tail had mostly covered them up, which was most likely why none of them had noticed them. She left the sled by the metal wall and continued on toward her converted room. Allen sheepishly followed, ignoring the stares of disbelief, worry, distress, concern. They looked to him, as though he had all the answers and he could only shake his head in apology before he turned back around to traipse after Ash.

Apparently, none of them had ever met a werewolf.

Ash left the sleds filled with meat near the newly crafted stove and beckoned him to follow, while the few others awake watched mutely. Allen felt their stares at his backside as he traipsed after the limping werewolf.

It was dark inside, predictably enough, but almost as soon as he crossed the threshold, the candles sprang to life unassisted. Ash was busy inspecting her renovated living space, leaning heavily on the leg that didn't appear as badly injured. After a minute, she grunted, limped over to a battered chair, and flipped it so she could lean forward on the seat backing.

"Just…yank them out. And hurry. I can't breathe that well." She said to him. There was a tight a strain in her voice that hadn't showed itself out in front of their guests. He could certainly hear the pain in it now.

Allen hesitated, just barely within her room as he stared at the arrows and her sagging form.

"They're scared of you," he said quietly. She scoffed softly and it was a terrible wet sound that turned into a heavy, painful wheeze.

"Everyone's scared of something," she said. "Doesn't surprise me that most people are afraid of me, just because I ain't human. I can smell it just fine."

He frowned at her. "You came in here, bloodied up and with arrows sticking out of your body. How else would you expect them to feel?"

"I honestly expected someone to scream. There's usually always one who does."

"Do you have no shame in how you present yourself or in how you treat others? You could at least have taken them out before coming back!"

"If I had no shame, I'd be prancing around here naked with no fucks to give. My fields are practically barren enough as it is."

His face flushed red at the thought of her doing just that and he was suddenly grateful she had some amount of humility. Or so he hoped she did. He didn't want her getting ideas…

"I can't…I can't reach my back. It's…"

He startled back, listening to her intently, although it was mostly in surprise.

"I…can't lift my arms around at…at certain angles. It's my shoulders, they're—they're fucked up. I don't want them helping, I don't… _trust_ them. To-to do it right."

He was momentarily stunned at the admission. She didn't trust the others, but she trusted him enough to ask for help? It also wasn't just a plea for help; it was a confession of weakness, and it was a weakness she'd kept hidden for quite some time from him, and rather well at that. When he failed to answer quickly, she started to get up.

"If you can't or won't do it, I'll get the raptors to do it."

He stepped forward, waving for her to sit back down. "I can do it; just…what do I need to do?"

"Yank it out. Don't ease it out. Just yank. Don't worry about the blood; don't worry about any fleshy chunks. It'll heal. It'll always heal. I'll be fine."

He found himself at her side, a hand on one of the arrows in her back, sitting just below her shoulder blade. He could hear her wet wheeze as she struggled to take in a breath and realized she was probably bleeding into her lungs. He could have been fooled by her earlier bravado. In fact, he had been. He grasped the arrow shaft tightly and when he saw her nod, he gave a hard yank. She hissed between clenched teeth when it didn't give.

"Again," she growled hoarsely. "Pull harder than that."

He did and he didn't miss the fact that her entire frame was braced and tense, nothing but a solid wall of corded, lean muscle. He moved on to the second arrow, this one dangerously close to her spine. Beneath the shredded clothing material, he could make out pale scars, slick and smooth in comparison to her tanned, healthy skin. Those were most definitely over her spine, and they looked like claw marks. He refrained from touching, from grazing his fingers over them at the very last moment. "What…happened here?"

She was quiet at his inquiry and kept her gaze locked on the wall ahead.

"A monster," she said at last, her words just barely above a whisper.

"Carmilla?" He ventured tentatively. The pattern was too large to be that of the raptors' handiwork. He's seen it before. He flinched when her golden gaze flicked to meet his out the corner of her eye. He was unnervingly reminded of the raptors with the way she stared at him. A shiver rolled down his spine, cold as ice water.

"I said a _monster_." Her eyes settled back toward the wall, her brows knit and her lips pulling into a thin hard line. "Carmilla isn't a monster."

She fell back into that obstinate silence that declared she was done talking. It left him stewing in an equally tense silence as he helped tug out the rest of the arrows. Just as she said before, all her wounds healed the moment the offending protrusions had left, with no marks or scars whatsoever.

He still couldn't get the thought of the ones on her back out of his head.

 _She shouldn't be able to walk at all,_ he thought, as he later disposed of the arrows. _Those were too deep to be superficial._

But what kind of monster could leave such damage so permanently on a werewolf who could otherwise heal from just about anything?

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The boat was no longer a bullet-riddled hunk of fiberglass and metal. Allen didn't know why that surprised him, yet it did.

All signs of damage and blood from its previous venture had been wiped clean. Most of the snow had finally melted by the time they all made their way down to the beach. The rains from the last few days made sure of that. Himiko and most of the Solarii and Oni had been dispatched of as well, so their trek was largely uneventful, thankfully. Allen came to learn that most of the individuals in their very large group of rescued survivors were called 'benders' and each could control one of four elements: fire, air, water, and earth. One of the boys with arrowhead tattoos along his body was called an Avatar, a being who controlled all four at once.

Strangely enough, the girl named Korra was also an Avatar.

Apparently, this was a major problem amongst their separate core groups, as only one Avatar could be in existence at a time. Allen didn't necessarily have a difficult time figuring that much out. Some thought there was some kind of fluctuating error that was severely messing with the order of things and there was some talk of spirits and whatnot. The way they continued diving into the subject, it went clear over his head.

When the conversation had turned into shouting matches and demanding to be heard, it had nearly threatened an upheaval in the cave between the two core groups before they left. Ash had quickly intervened with her usual brusque and blunt attitude. Allen could only watch in a mixture of amusement, horror, and embarrassment as she seemed ready to start slamming everyone's heads against one another to get the in-house arguments to quell.

"Put your fucking existential crisis crap on hold until you're not in danger of being shot at and you're off the fucking island. I did not risk my ass for you lot just to have you all kill each other over something as stupid as fucking spiritual reincarnation!"

Apparently, it shut everyone up rather quickly, mainly from shock. Allen later realized it was because she had figured what was going on a lot sooner than he had. Regardless, it had strangely enough kept everyone from starting anything else up—to an extent. They at the very least agreed to refrain from bringing the topic up until after they had successfully left the confines of the island and its lethal inhabitants.

Ash led them down to the beach and after they arrived near the end of the day, camp was quickly established in and around the bunkers. Their broken husks were still there, just as Allen remembered. Some of the old docks were also intact. A few boars had taken up residence on the beach, hiding out in a cleft hidden in one of the stone beach spires, but after Ash drew them out, they had food for the whole group. Or most of it; some of the others did not eat meat, at all. For them, she had been collecting edible plants, unquestioning and oddly very understanding of their dietary needs.

While the others slowly mingled, testing the waters on what was safe to talk about and what wasn't, Ash kept to herself. Allen sought her out when he was able to extricate himself from conversation, retreating from the warmth of the fire and the comfort of other people. He found her tinkering away at the boat engine, a globe of flame hovering near where she worked. He stared in absolute fascination for a few moments. In comparison to her earlier fury, this was a rather tame display of her apparent control of fire.

"Permission to come aboard?" He called to her with faint amusement. She paused, ears flickering a little on her head. She grunted at him. He took that as a yes and clambered over the gunwale. She didn't look at him as she worked, tugging a tool from her belt and replacing it with another to sit in the many pouches that lined it.

"Anything I can help with?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

She stopped for a few seconds. "Any food left?"

"Not much."

She mulled over that. "Don't worry about it then. Let the others have it."

Allen was almost ready to argue that, but thought better of it. Once Ash made up her mind, he'd be hard-pressed to change it. Instead, he sat on the gunwale opposite of where she worked, watching as she ducked down into the compartment where the engine sat. It was a rather comfortable silence between them, amazingly enough. But, after a while, he found he needed more than the soft clinks and clangs around the engine and the distant laughter of the others or the crash of the tides against the beach to fill the void.

"Are you going to work on this through the night?"

"Might as well. I can get it up by morning if I do."

"You want them to go that soon?"

"Yes."

He frowned at her, and glanced over his shoulder, back toward where he could just make out the faint smudge of light from the campfire. Someone was shouting and then everyone was laughing. A cold wind coming in from the sea began to pick up and tugged at his clothes and slithered through the fabric, making him shiver. He yearned to go back to the warmth, the comfort, the familiarity of the company of others. Yet, he remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear himself away quite yet.

"You should go back and sit with them. Spend time with people if you miss it. I'll be fine," Ash said to him, cutting through the relative quiet sharply, unexpectedly. Allen hesitated. She didn't even have to look at him to know how he felt. She still had her back to him, her focus wholly on the boat engine. In the faint glow of the fire floating beside her, he could tell her arms were already greasy and dirtied from cleaning and fixing it, dark smudges almost up to her elbow.

She stopped working when he didn't move and craned her neck over her shoulder to look at him.

"I know I'm not the best of company and you're not exactly obligated to stick around while I work. You'd probably be better off talking with them than sitting around quietly with me. Go on. I'll be all right by myself. I'm a big girl."

She flashed a very wane smile at him before returning to her work. He stared, flabbergasted at first, before it quickly melted and gave way to anticipation. Allen knew he didn't need her permission to go off and leave her be, but just to hear her say she'd fine, it was almost a relief. He just hoped that things would go smoother than it had the last time they had been on the beach together. No Solarii, no attacks, no bullets raining down on them.

Allen offered a quiet goodbye, and left Ash to her work. She grunted out her own parting, but only because she had a sizeable wrench clamped between her teeth this time.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

True to the werewolf's word, the boat had been fixed by morning. The quiet chugging of the engine was what he realized he had been hearing most of the morning. Although to be fair, he didn't quite notice it until someone actually pointed it out. As soon as people began noticing it, they also started cleaning up and breaking down camp. The little shelters hastily erected by the earthbenders were quickly stomped down with their strange power. One of the firebenders, a scar-faced young man named Zuko, put out the campfire after everyone had eaten breakfast. The waterbenders were taking into account their supply of water and the airbenders the food. He could hear them talking amongst one another, excited to get off the island and back to where they came from. There were also conversations peppered with worry about how they were going to fix this potential 'two Avatars at once' problem as well.

"So, do you really live on this island with her?"

Allen turned to the voice, distracted. He had been staring out at the cold grey waters beyond the bay. When he found the source, he recognized it to be Korra. She was waiting for him to speak up and he nodded to her.

"I do, yes."

"She seems a bit…" Korra paused, lips quirking. "I'd say 'rude', off of first impressions."

"She's rough around the edges, I'll admit," Allen chuckled. "She has her moments, though, please don't doubt that. She really does care about keeping the people who wash up on Yamatai's shores safe, it's just in her own gruff way."

"If you say so. I mean, I'm not complaining, she's helping us get out of here. I'm still confused as to why you stay here, stuck with her. Or why she won't leave herself."

"She can't leave and I…I don't want to leave her behind. It seems unfair that she can't leave, for whatever reason, but everyone else she has helped can."

"I guess." Korra said, although she sounded doubtful to his explanation. "Is she really…you know…hundreds of years old?"

"I couldn't say for certain, but she definitely has been here for a very long time. She's not human, I'm sure you noticed, so I wouldn't doubt she's incredibly long-lived. She doesn't recall much from her younger years, she's told me."

"I did, but I thought she was a spirit."

"But…she's alive." Allen cocked his head to the side just a smidge, confused at what Korra was getting at. Spirits were intangible most of the time, but there were exceptions.

"Spirits can manifest physical forms," Korra said, as though that explained it all. Allen frowned at her. She frowned back.

"You…don't know much, do you?"

"Not about what you're talking about. I don't even think we're on the same page." He admitted and she sighed.

"Probably," the young woman answered. She placed her hands on her hips and glanced out at the sea. "You know…you don't have to stay. No one's really keeping you here. She isn't, right? I mean…you can leave anytime."

Allen considered her offer. Or at least, he assumed it was one. It was rather open-ended to interpretation but the message was still the same: he could leave anytime he wanted, and that was true enough. He could. Ash had wanted him to, and she wasn't entirely coy about it either.

 _She's stopped pestering me, though. I think she's used to the idea of someone else being around._

And sometimes, he wanted to believe she might even enjoy having someone else close by as well. A secret soft spot yearning for company but unable to fully admit it to herself...

He shook his head, drawing Korra's attention back to him.

"Thank you, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll be all right. I think I know how to handle her just fine, and this place isn't all that bad."

Korra eyed him uncertainly but she nodded all the same. "If you say so."

Someone called for her then, just from where camp was. She craned her neck to glance up the steep bunker and sand wall. "Guess we're almost set. And thank you, for all your help, Allen. Really."

She took off after that, quickly rounding toward the crumbling staircase on the far end of the beach. He watched her go before trailing after the sandy footprints she left behind. Camp was empty, everyone already gathered where the boat was waiting to be boarded. Naga took up most of the room, but somehow, as people got on, they managed to work around the large animal. Momo the flying lemur took up residence on the Naga the polar bear-dog's head and the two seemed to hit it off rather amiably enough. Ash was speaking with the dark-haired young woman, Asami, about the boat's steering off to the side when he approached.

Asami was dutifully listening, especially as Ash got into the details about the engine, although it was a fairly short lesson.

"Just hit it."

Asami blinked at her. "Hit it. You want me to just…hit it."

Ash nodded. "Smack it hard if it acts up. Trust me."

"O-kay, I suppose I will have to trust that…piece of advice." Her lisp curved into a faintly bemused smile as she regarded the werewolf for a moment longer before she added, "Thank you, by the way. For everything you've done.'

Ash, in all her grace, simply shrugged. "It's what I do. Go south, like I said before. You'll get picked up, one way or another."

With another shrug, the werewolf stuffed her grease-stained hands into her pockets and walked off back toward camp.

"Wait!"

Ash faltered for only a moment, glancing over her shoulder. Jinora, the young girl he and Ash had rescued, leapt over the gunwale. Her father, Tenzin, called out for her to come back. Jinora continued trotting over to the werewolf. Ash stared at the girl, taken aback when she threw her arms around Ash's middle into a tight hug.

Ash, in all her grace, just stood there gaping like an idiot, her hands springing out of her pockets to hover uselessly at her sides, her spine straight as a board and shoulders locked with tension. For good long while, they stood there like that. Allen was secretly hoping Ash would return the embrace, if only to stop looking the way she did in that moment, but she didn't. In fact, Ash looked incredibly uncomfortable with the embrace altogether, like she didn't know how to respond in kind.

Allen surmised in that moment that Ash hasn't been shown an ounce of affection often enough from people, if she's ever been shown it at all. She was so used to bellowing voices and slamming back at opposing forces with as much energy and fervor and rage as she could muster when it came to a fight. She was so used to hardened words, throwing fists and kicks and firing arrows and bullets that a simple hug was beyond comprehension. She could dish out a fight just fine; it was reacting to the softer end of the emotional spectrum like genuine fondness and warmth that she didn't seem to understand.

Jinora soon realized she wasn't going to get a hug back and slowly peeled herself away, looking slightly disappointed. Grateful, but disappointed all the same.

"Thank you. I know it probably wasn't easy getting inside that fortress, but…thank you. You saved my life."

Ash stared at the girl with her mismatched eyes. Then, with all her grace, Ash regained her unconcerned expression once more and simply shrugged.

"It's what I do."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The boat was still in the bay, but it was quickly making headway in leaving Yamatai. The seas were calm. The skies were mostly clear. It was slow going, with all the people and creatures aboard, but it was making its way out, which was the most important thing. Ash was still tense, like she was trying to ride out the ghostly feeling of being embraced with warmth and not violence.

"You can still go, you know. They're close enough to flag back."

Her voice was edgy, as though she was torn between an internal confliction of some sort. Allen looked to the boat, quickly chugging away. Some of the younger children were waving at them. He waved back. Ash didn't.

"I know," he said after a minute. He smiled at her when he saw she was looking at him, studying him. Like she was trying to figure out why the hell he hadn't gone. "I chose not to."

Her eyes narrowed. He recognized the gesture.

"I chose not to, because you obviously still need help looking after. You have the raptors, true. And Báthory and Carmilla, no doubt. You're not alone, but…you don't have any positive human contact. You act like you don't want or need it, but…sometimes I think you do. I've seen moments where you genuinely needed it and I think you need someone to have that with."

She kept her gaze pinned to him for a very long minute. He's learned not to squirm under her gaze, coolly regarding it with his own. She looked away back at the boat, quickly disappearing into the horizon.

"You should have stopped at ' _I chose not to_ '."

He grinned at her and chuckled.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The next several weeks passed in a blur. He wasn't sure how many, but there were enough to bleed into one another, adding to his time on Yamatai. Ash was putting him through the wringers, too. She taught him the right flora from the wrong to pick for medicinal and consuming purposes. She coached him in recognizing the individual vocalizations of each creature on the island, so that he didn't accidentally stumble upon an opposing predator's territory, or worse, right into their awaiting hungry jaws. She taught him how to stay downwind or upwind of the animals, to prevent his scent from being picked up—especially by territorial predators such as Dilos, Carnies, or Compies.

He was given instruction on how to identify them further by their tracks, and how to recognize game trails through the forests. The Dryosaurs were small and able to traverse easily through the forests and mountains. The larger herd animals, not so much. There were exceptions, however rare they were and he'd need to remain vigilant, she stressed to him. She showed him the hidden caches and hidey-holes around the island, some of which were former Solarii resting spots or places of worship to Himiko. The bodies they found were put to rest and burned on pyres, their ashes scattered by the wind.

"Why do we burn them? Why not bury them?"

It was a general question he mulled over on his own for some time. There were pros and cons he wrestled with, of course, such as it took time to dig a grave, and perhaps even a cairn or grave marker of some sort would be needed to mark the dead. But then again, it took time to build the pyres as well. She gave him a rather simple, if macabrely eloquent answer.

"There're enough ghosts on this island. We don't need them hanging around, reminding us that we couldn't save them." She paused, looking away from him. What she was looking at, he wasn't too sure. There was hardly anything noteworthy or out of place where they were, but she always seemed aware of something out there, in the forests.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They were scavenging old World War II-era biplanes today. Ash wanted the cockpit pilot seats to serve as their new makeshift couch seats. The John Doe who had died on her last one soaked it enough blood that made even him gag at the smell of it, so they had had to burn it.

One such plane was overhanging a waterfall, not far from where their homestead was. It dangled precariously over the edge of the falls, its metal hide pitted with so many holes, he could see its skeletal framework beneath the panels. He stayed behind on the cliff as a lookout, while Ash descended, slowly and carefully, into the belly of the contraption. He had to secretly marvel at the thing. There were plenty of them littering the island and this was the closest he's been to one in a while.

According to Ash, the Second Great War was called as such because it had encompassed most of the countries around the world. Nearly every country had, in some way or another, been affected by it. American forces had intended to sit the war out—until Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii halfway through the war. Troops were sent out, both to Europe and the Pacific Theater. In the latter, their forces island-hopped, all the way up to Japan's main island. It had been a bloody campaign, and a good chunk of their fighting had been done in the air, with these very airplanes. Now they were merely relics of a bygone era and a long-dead war, slowly being worn away by nature.

"Some things haven't been touched, though," she said with a faint smile touching her lips. "I'm hoping the seats aren't too far gone. They're not all that comfy, but they're better than having nothing at all."

She was close to the nose of the plane now, where the cockpit sat. It was the farthest end down, and he began to get a creeping feeling that something was going to go wrong.

 _I should have gone down there with her. Or gone down there myself,_ he thought as the feeling grew and ballooned until it hurt inside his chest. He didn't care if Ash would have glowered at him for such a suggestion, if only he'd made it. She made it obvious what she thought of such "antiquated gender-based roles," as she liked to call them often enough that he could hear her scolding him already. "Just because I'm a woman, doesn't mean I'm not capable of undertaking a difficult task. I'm not a delicate fucking flower. I'm pretty sure you know that by now."

And he knew. Oh, he knew that fact like he knew the back of his parasitic-type Innocence-imbedded hand. She was as tough as they came and then some. She sometimes reminded him of Lenalee; they were both such determined women, he was in awe at their drives, their passion, their very will to keep going. It had nothing to do with Ash's gender, all in all. He would be a gentleman, of course, when it called for it.

No, he didn't worry because of her gender. He worried because she didn't worry at all. She cared less about herself that it was downright irresponsible and terrifying. She had made it clear she knew she wasn't invincible, and while she was apparently a near-immortal being, it didn't mean she couldn't get hurt or feel pain. He still flinched in sympathy every time she came back home, bloodied and bruised with something else sticking out of her like she was a damned pincushion and didn't have any cares to give for her own well-being.

He sometimes worried that she's forgotten what it once meant to care for herself as much as she should care for other people, or she truly didn't give a damn what happened to her. Ever. That probably scared him the most.

Ash had finally reached the cockpit. He could peer over the edge of the cliff near the falls and see her progress. She was surveying the chair he could quite clearly see at the front, just behind a thin pane of cracked and dirtied glass. Beneath all that, he could make out the forest reaching up toward her, but it was so far below…

The airplane groaned as Ash shifted her position. She was starting to dislodge the seat. She had her tool belt around her waist. She already had a tool out, working away at something to loosen the pilot seat. His heart leapt into his throat when the plane gave another tremendous moan of protest.

"Ash! The plane…!"

"It's fine," she called back, unconcerned. She kept her head down as she worked. "These old bastards like to talk up a storm when things start getting jiggly."

A minute crawled by, and he swore up and down that it was the longest minute he's had to endure for a very long time to date. The plane continued its protests, but otherwise it remained lodged in its place as Ash worked.

"Damn," she said after the minute had passed. "It's rusted in there tight. I'm not gonna get anywhere with anything I got on me. I'm gonna have to rip it out."

And that's when it all seemed to start going downhill. A horrid screeching rent through the air. Ash was too busy pulling and yanking on the pilot seat she was so obsessed with, that she failed to notice that the plane was becoming dislodged from its anchoring point in the cliffs.

Allen noticed. A moment of sheer panic tore through him, keeping him pinned to his spot, watching on in horror as it sank an inch down, then another, and then another. The ground shuddered abruptly beneath him and Carmilla came swinging into view right above him, trumpeting so loudly it made his ears ring in pain. The white beast craned her head and torso over the cliffs, snatching her long arms around the tail end of the plane and gripping it tightly. The jarring stop knocked Ash out of her position and she yelped below. Allen rushed over, nearly pressing up against Carmilla as he peered down below. Ash was lying up against the glass and he could see the spider web cracks forming beneath her, rapidly growing in size and number the longer she laid there.

"I'm coming down," he said, already calculating how far he should jump down before catching onto something without injuring himself. Ash was hauling herself up, trying to anchor herself back into her prior position between the bulkhead and the seat.

"Stay up there!" She snarled back up at him, surprising him. Carmilla timbered back a soft and rumbling croon while her crimson eye flicked his way. Her jowls parted and shivered visibly, showing off her jagged, conical teeth in response, as though in warning.

He glowered back and signed to the dinosaur, ' _She'll fall if I don't help_ '. Carmilla lowed again, as though the Indominus Rex was considering his answer. Perhaps she was. Her jaws closed almost completely and she returned her gaze back toward Ash below. Allen took this as a good sign and began to slowly lower himself over the edge of the cliff and onto the teetering edge of the plane. Ash was so preoccupied with her work, she didn't notice him until he was halfway down to meet her. Carmilla rumbled above, looking as unabashed as a dinosaur could when Ash craned her head up to glare at the Indominus.

' _Traitor',_ she paused to sign up at to Carmilla. The dinosaur snorted in response, pointedly looking away unabashed. Allen ignored the exchange, more focused on finding his next handhold that would endure his weight.

"I told you to stay up there," she finally said to him as he passed the halfway point.

"If I did everything you told me to do, as you dictated, you would be much worse off. You probably wouldn't even be here," he quipped back. He heard her growl in annoyance.

"Goddamned humans…"

"Hey now, that's not very nice. I don't pick on you for being a stubborn werewolf," he teased, although his voice was high and strained. The plane shuddered and Carmilla roared, startled. Talons scraped along the plane and suddenly, her curved claws were stabbing back into the metal hide again, readjusting her grip. His heart hammered away in his chest at the abrupt jostling, his right hand's knuckles bone white as his grip remained tight and unrelenting.

"Dammit. Fine. Just get down here and help me unhinge this fucking thing."

"Language," he chided with a cluck of his tongue. "Didn't your mother teach you manners?"

"I don't remember my mother, so your argument is invalid. Follow-up question: did yours?"

He winced. _Should have seen that one coming._

At least she was talking. She'd been quiet for the last few days, strangely even more so even for her.

By the time he reached her, she had already dislodged most of the seat, but he could see she was being as delicate as she could, obviously due to their precarious situation. The seat was anchored to the flooring of the plane by thick bolts. Those, over time, had grown rusted over and would be nigh impossible to uproot, not without brute force at least. Given where they were literally hanging over, however, that too was just about as impossible.

He thought it over for only a moment before he flicked his left hand, and felt the familiar sensation of flesh and blood melding seamlessly into bladed digits. Carefully, he dug his clawed appendage along the edge of the rusted end of the seat's metal roots and nodded to Ash.

"I'll loosen up this rust as much as I can. You pull, but do try not to kill us both by ripping it out?"

She ticked a brow at him. "I make no guarantees."

She readied herself and grabbed it beneath the seat proper. She nodded back to him and he began dragging his claws into the metal. The old plane's metal was so weak and brittle, having been worn away by the weather for so long, it was easy to cut into it rather than whittle the rust away. Ash easily extricated the seat and lifted it away from its previous home. He grinned at her when she pulled it free.

"I was almost beginning to think something terrible was going to happen," he admitted to her.

"Not too late for that. Day's not over yet," she remarked back, to which he frowned. She jerked her head upwards. "Let's get this thing back up there. Carmilla's starting to get tired. She can't hold us for forever."

They managed to get it up and out of the plane through an awkward dance of "Pass the Chair Up".

The night he learned of Ash's arm rotation limitations, he began to notice it more. She would leap rather than climb, or find some way around an obstacle she otherwise couldn't get up. She kept everything at ground or chest level, despite there were now more makeshift shelves for them to utilize in their home. Sometimes he'd catch her rolling her shoulders, a strained look on her face when she tried lifting her entire arm up until it shook tremendously with effort. Her left side seemed weaker than the right in those instances, but they both couldn't put up with the strain.

When she had to pass him the pilot chair, she would utilize her legs more often than her arms for any lifting, or she'd outright underhand toss it to him if she could afford to. Then she'd simply shimmy her way up past him rather than reaching and grabbing handholds like he would. It was rather impressive she'd managed to survive in such a harsh environment that otherwise demanded an individual to climb sheer vertical surfaces. She always found a way around it, somehow.

She adapted and overcame.

He didn't mention it to her, however. Something told him if he did, he'd bring an end to this oddly blissful co-operative yet still tenuous relationship they've established. She still tiptoed around him, like she wasn't sure what to do with him half the time. He did mostly the same, partly because he wasn't sure what would set her off into another morose silence. He didn't want that; she actually spoke with him now, considered his opinions with a seriousness she wouldn't have months before. She even asked advice every now and again, although that was rather rare.

He found her enduring, strangely enough, likeable even, to a point. In that odd way she presented herself when she wasn't around too many people or being shot at, anyways. Ash was a confusing enigma, a puzzle he was still trying to piece together, but he had a good feeling that she was secretly appreciative for his company.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	10. Chapter Ten: Friction

**Chapter Ten:  
Friction**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _Every friendship goes through ups and downs. Dysfunctional patterns set in; external situations cause internal friction; you grow apart and then bounce back together."  
_ **-Mariella Frostrup**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The Solarii never ventured close to where he and Ash resided if they could help it. Even if they had superior numbers and a myriad of weaponry at their disposal, they knew better than to attack her stronghold or wander too closely in the pine forest just above their shantytown for too long. Her fiery powers alone was enough to dissuade them, and of course, they had coined her with the unaffectionate nickname of 'Fire Walker'. (Allen found a bitter irony in that nickname alone. When he once pointed it out between their…similarities after learning about it, she scoffed and grumbled, looking rather disgruntled and told him to not get any ideas based on family names matching nicknames.)

But regardless of nicknames or not, the Solarii would sooner attack the aggressive herds on the northern end of the island than Ash's stronghold, and he's seen it before. Those who weren't over the edge yet were absolutely terrified of her and with good reason. They called her a monster. Now that Mathias had been killed and Himiko was gone, they were nothing more than scattered remnants, rogue cells—although he doubted they knew that, mainly due to the storms continuing on schedule even without her influence.

"The Dragon's Triangle is more violent in comparison to the Bermuda Triangle," Ash had told him, once again as a reminder. "It's riddled with enough storms to last a while, even without the Sun Queen riling things up. It's just the more unusual ones that are absent."

Almost in a prophetic turn of events, that very same night in which her reminder was said, a large storm came rolling in over the island, casting its dark shadow over everything it touched. Carmilla and Báthory took shelter within the pine forest together, and the raptors bedded down in the cave with them. Not even Ash would go out amidst the howling wind and the lashing rain for the following days it had remained.

"Too dangerous," she actually admitted with a cross look on her face. "But that also means the Solarii and the Oni alike won't be out and about, setting up more traps. Not if they want to remain intact."

On more than one occasion, he and Ash have had to disable snares, bear traps, and tripwires around the island, if only to bypass some of the Solarii themselves without triggering a gunfight.

Those were numerous enough as it was. Sometimes the Solarii started it.

Sometimes Ash did.

Allen loathed it when she did, especially when he was actually present and in danger of being shot at. He couldn't bring it upon himself to return an arrow back in the face of the onslaught of enemy fire. Instead, he ducked behind cover, if only for a few seconds before Molotov cocktails or sticks of dynamite would come sailing his way and he had to scramble. Ash was always there, though. He had never been caught alone with them, not since he first found himself on the island of Yamatai. She was always a shield, the driving force, the spear point. If they were ever caught, she was always going on the offense, allowing him to crouch behind cover while she diverted their fire onto her.

He hated every moment she did, almost as much as he hated it when she started any fights. It made him feel utterly useless, the few times they were out caught with the Solarii shooting at them. But he couldn't bring himself to kill another human being. Incapacitate, perhaps, but the finishing blow never came from him. The thought of felling someone with the mindset of "kill or be killed" the way Ash did just didn't sit right with him.

If it had been an Akuma, he would have fought back without hesitation—especially if it meant a chance to save the rotting human soul within the demonic machinery. If it were the Noah or even the Millennium Earl, he would have gladly fought with actual fervor if it meant destroying another evil entity in the world. But other humans, even those that meant him harm…he found he couldn't.

He hated it with his gut, but every time he tried, he froze. So he let Ash handle it, even if it meant knowing she was killing them and not just debilitating them. They could have escaped, all those people, but they really were too ingrained in the lifestyle they had immersed themselves in. If they had gone back to polite society…he could imagine a number of things, actually. Many of which would have ended with them being removed from that aforementioned polite society indefinitely, and sent to yet another isolated prison to spend the rest of their numbered days in solitude with like-minded criminals.

Just because he pitied them and their situation, and how they ended up where they were, didn't mean he condoned them or their actions. This was especially true since they tried to kill him on sight if they thought they could get away with it, just for being associated with Ash.

It was too bad for them that she was always around. And that meant they always made a mistake with trying to engage with him. It usually meant bringing a werewolf's wrath down on their heads. And by god, it just wasn't a pretty sight. He always felt sort of guilty that he was glad she was on his side and he'd most likely never be on the receiving end of those terrifying powers of hers.

Just thinking of the mere possibility of her turning on him made his stomach turn sour.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The ruins they faced were mostly intact. It felt strange to be looking at something that has withstood thousands of years against all odds, and at the most, only suffered superficial damage. Most ruins around this island had been victims of the destructive wear-and-tear of the weather, the Solarii raids, even the passing of the new dinosaurian inhabitants. Ash led him through the building, and the evidence of its testimony to remain unbowed was immediately apparent. The staircase was still mostly standing, although there were several steps that had given in and splintered away.

Whatever furniture that might have been here was long gone, and signs of previous islander inhabitants were more apparent than its original owners. There were paintings on the walls, stains of white against the tarnished dark wood, simplistic figures of Himiko all over the place. Occasionally, words such ' _Father Mathias Will Save Us_ ' and ' _NO ONE LEAVES_ ' were smeared on the walls. They had to traverse through the old home to get to another part of the island; it was new to him, of course. He hadn't been through this trail before. Ash, predictability, knew every inch of this place in comparison. She's had decades, perhaps even centuries' worth of time to memorize everything, including new footpaths and game trails that arose due to external meddling and changes in the environment.

She motioned for them to climb the staircase.

"Careful," she said, eying the fallen steps. She assumed a more cautious gait as she moved and he mirrored her, stepping carefully in the same places she would. Something cried out abruptly on the floor above them. Ash froze, ears stiffening to a ramrod straight position, eyes searching pointedly. She sniffed openly, and he knew she could pick up scents that he couldn't possibly fathom. The little cry came again, and she visibly relaxed.

"Bird," she confirmed. They continued moving upwards.

As they approached the final floor, Allen soon came to find he stood corrected: the intactness of the building was not at all complete. There were chunks missing along the back wall and parts of the roof were gone as well that couldn't be seen from the front. It provided them a clear view of their path below, however. A thin and crooked trail pressed right up against the cliffs and he assumed that was where they needed to go. _Why_ they needed to go this way, he couldn't yet decipher. Ash was strict on her silence regarding the subject, but she insisted that they needed to go this way.

Ash was the first down, leaping from the second story onto the thin stony platform behind the old house. There wasn't much room for him to land. He'd have to nail this just right—

Something came up from behind him and smashed right into the back of his head. Pain splintered like glass through his skull and a mixture of black, white, and red spots danced rapidly across his vision. The wind was knocked out of him and as he hit the floor, it gushed out again. Tightness settled in his chest as he struggled to draw breath, but his lungs weren't cooperating. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he thrashed onto his hands and knees while the anguish still pranced about in his head.

His vision cleared and he sucked in a breath, if only for a few seconds. He caught sight of a wild-faced man bundled in faded, salt-crusted baggy clothing. A baseball bat was enclosed in his hands and Allen caught a glimpse of red staining it (Blood? Was it his blood? Or was it someone else's?) before an earth-shattering roar trumpeted away in his ears. The very floorboards beneath him shook, almost threatening to snap apart and send him plummeting.

Breath began to seep back into him in small, painful sips and his head dulled to a constant, painful throb that seemed to intensify and fade in consistent intervals. But he didn't miss how the man froze suddenly across from Allen, terror washing across his wild face, and a moment of clarity streaked inside him. It was gone in a matter of seconds, giving way to pure, undulating terror.

Ash came barreling back through the gaping hole in the wall, a blur of movement too fast for the eye to follow. She made a beeline for the wild-faced man, who went stumbling away as soon as she appeared. He fled into the next room, trying to escape.

"No, no! Mercy, mercy please! Please, spare me—!"

Another teeth-rattling bellow arose, cutting off the pitiable cries into a strangled scream. That too came to an abrupt and sickening end. It was either a few minutes or a few hours that passed before everything slowed down into focus. Allen was wobbling up to his feet when he felt hands helping him back up the rest of the way. The world was still a dizzy and spinning mess, but even Allen knew what had just happened.

"You killed him," he said, trying to focus on Ash's face. It remained, more or less, in its constant stony mask she normally wore. The hard, thin line of her lips; the furrowed brow and unreadable mismatched blue-grey and gold eyes; the sharp angle of her chin matched with her high cheekbones and tanned skin—she'd be pretty if she didn't scowl or glower so much. Even the scar across her cheek and the bridge of her nose wasn't that terrible. And she looked so young, he almost couldn't believe she'd been alive for hundreds of years.

He batted away the hand that was prodding at him, trying to turn him around and check his head.

"You killed him!" He repeated, this time more firmly as the spinning began to subside. He glared at her—or hoped he was. "He was begging for mercy—and you slaughtered him without listening, without thinking!"

She stopped completely and listened with that impassive stare, although he knew she was beginning to get annoyed. Her jaw tightened up and the muscles in her neck grew corded and taut. He took the pause as a sign that she wasn't ready to speak yet and glanced behind her. He almost wished he hadn't. He met her gaze with a steeled resolve, his fists clenching up into balls at his side.

"He was surrendering to you—how could you be so _heartless_? What if this had been our chance to start an alliance with the Solarii? It can start with just one man, just one! Have you no humanity left in you—HEY! Stop!"

She pushed past him and when he grabbed her arm, she whirled so fast on him in return, he didn't know he had been pinned to a wall until his head slammed up against it. It sparked another round of spots and wave of pain threatening to consume his vision. Only when it cleared could he gain a full sense of what was happening. Ash had her arm braced against his chest, not his throat, but she was making it clear just how very strong she was—and he found he might not be able to unpin himself if he wanted to be free. Not very easily. His chest ached where she pressed her arm against it, using her smaller height to an advantage. It was like trying to breathe past a metal vice.

Both her eyes were golden and almost glowing as she regarded him with a quiet snarl painted on her face.

"Have you forgotten all of what I've told you about these assholes?" Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. "He was going to _kill you_. He was going to try, anyway, to bludgeon you to death by smashing your skull in. He caught you by surprise. He caught _me_ by surprise, and it's rare someone can do that. I'll grant him that much."

A rumbling growl built up and spilled out from her, the vibrations traveling up to press in against him. Her eyes flickered ominously when she glanced over her shoulder. Her ears pressed flatly against her head.

"If you had been the one to beg for mercy, _he_ wouldn't have spared you. These are men who have murdered children. Babies, even! I know, because I had to _clean_ _up_ the damned mess. They left the bodies to rot and I had to be the one to burn them and _put them to rest_."

Her grip on him loosened, but only slightly. It was enough that he could draw a breath easier.

"They wouldn't have had any qualms about spilling the blood of a kid your age. They'd _enjoy_ hearing you beg for mercy. They'd _laugh_. _They_ are the ones who have lost their humanity! At the very least, I give survivors a _chance_. I give them shelter and food and attempt to get them off the island. I do not pressgang them into joining me."

Her arm fell away and he saw that it had transformed into a furred appendage from the elbow down, tipped with lethal claws at the end. He saw their tips stained red and he looked away. When she met his gaze, they were still hard and cold.

"You're the one who chose this life, even after being given several chances to flee to the comfort of civilization. You _chose_ to stay. I didn't make you. You made your choice, now you get to lie in the grave you dug up for yourself."

She strolled away with that left hanging in the air between them, over to where she must have dropped her pack and slung it back over her shoulder. His mouth went gone cotton-dry and any argument he had left faded. He could still felt the heat of anger broiling away in the pit of his stomach but it was also tying itself into hard knots at the same time. He wanted to speak but the words wouldn't come. On some level, he knew she was speaking the truth. He just didn't want her to be right.

"They received the due reward of their deeds. They cast aside their own humanity the moment they were inducted into the Solarii Brotherhood, the moment they embraced it. If they want to harm those who try to or cannot defend themselves, then they should expect to get hurt by those can fight back. It's as simple as that."

"But then that makes you no better than they are," he shot back, without thinking, without preamble. That surprised her, if the thoughtful pause she took was any indication. Her jaw tightened moments later.

"If I was anything like them, I would have left you to die on numerous occasions. I would have watched you die. I would have _enjoyed_ watching you die. I chose to save you instead, like I chose to save those whom I could get to in time, before the Solarii did. I've spilled my blood to save your little neck." Her lips peeled back, if only for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of the large canines that always seemed much too big to be in a human's mouth. Too big, too sharp, too…inhuman. "You're the one who's no better than them. You wouldn't pick up a weapon to save anyone if it came down to that. You'd stand by and watch like the rest of those bastards."

She left him with that said and it filled him with shame and anger. He noticed her arm had returned to normal, the fur gone and replaced to its lanky, lean usualness. Except for the blood still staining her fingertips.

Even if she washed that away though, he felt like he'd always see it.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He didn't follow her. Not at first. Maybe not ever, if he had his way. He stayed where he was, where she left him, in the house with the corpse of a man who had attempted to murder him. He knew there were humans out there that, no matter what, might not deserve to live. They didn't deserve the chances they had been given, while others who suffered did. Conflict tore at his gut like a wild animal, making him feel sick. Or maybe that was his head injury messing with him. He wasn't sure anymore. Was he concussed? He didn't know that either, but he struggled to stay awake. It didn't work.

Allen was startled awake at the peeping warbles of a pack of Compies in the same room as him. Most were scattered around or were already dining on the corpse of the Solarii brother. A few were beginning to venture closer toward him, warbling with deceptive cuteness. It was almost dusk and the room was grey with shadows, but the Compies' bright green hides were still discernible enough. He panicked, scrambling to his feet and glanced out the hole in the wall. One of his only routes was blocked by the nasty little Compies. He didn't want to just barrel on through them, nor did he think knocking through a wall would be wise. It might bring the rest of the old house down around him.

 _And then I'd be dinosaur food for sure if that happened. If the house doesn't kill or injure me, they certainly will try._ With a resigned and bitter sigh, he took to the gaping open hole where Ash had disappeared through hours before and landed on what little ground there was left over. Allen pressed against the cliff and shuffled along the thin trail, mindful of his steps. It looked like what used to be a large pathway carved into the sides of the mountain had fallen away and collapsing the rest wasn't in his plans today. Eventually and thankfully enough, the narrow footsteps widened out and gave him ample room to walk without the threat of falling down a chasm. It took him the better part of an hour to make his way down the cliffs.

When he finally managed to find level ground, he found a hole to crawl through to get to the other side of a huge slab of mountain. It was where her tracks led. He couldn't even stand up completely most of the time. Judging by the wooden beams haphazardly stuck inside it, someone didn't want the tunnel to collapse suddenly. He came out the other side a little sandy, but quite alive and found himself on the slope of a hill. Down he went, following a predesignated trail carved out between the seagrass and sand.

A few old World War II trucks and even a few tanks were scattered across the sandy landscape. Their hides were rusted beyond measure, and their wheels were rotted and collapsed. No way would he ever get to drive around in one. Ash would complain all the time whenever they passed one by, lamenting on how the boat was the only engine she'd ever fix again in her lifetime.

"I miss my car. I actually…I actually kind of remember it. It was beautiful—black stripes, shiny bright yellow chassis…and the roar of that engine, the feel of the steering wheel in my hands…" He could already hear her sigh wistfully, and it was perhaps the only time she ever did that sort of thing. The sudden thought of the werewolf curdled his mood all over again and her earlier words came back to bite at him. The way she had told him how he was no better than the Solarii when _she_ was the one with blood on her hands…

The nerve of her! Just when he was starting to appreciate her company—even if she was right, he did choose to stay here and well, live with her—she had to go and ruin it with those erroneous and downright _ridiculous_ accusations.

He almost started grumbling aloud about it all as he tromped down the beach, past the seagrass that was beginning to thin out and give way to a sandy, rock-littered beach. There was a pillar of stone with natural steps sitting in the middle of the beach, and a path between it and the cliffs looming over the beach. He skirted between the sea spire and the cliffs, until he came upon the sight of the water itself. There were a few more bunkers here, most of them more intact than the ones where the PT boat usually sat. He could make out evidence of docks, too—or what was left of them. Most were smashed up beyond recognition, and all that was left were stubs. All except for one.

It must have been sheltered from the more violent of currents or maybe it was just luck and good engineering, because it was mostly intact. What surprised him the most was the pristine white boat that sat there, _right there_ in front of him at the docks. It looked so out of place, with its untarnished keel and the brilliant paintjob. It bobbed gently in the calm tides, the last of the sunlight feebly pushing through the overcast sky on the horizon, giving it a soft, almost ethereal, glow to it.

As he approached, he could make out the name of the boat on the side: ' _Parvus Sed Potens_ '. It startled him slightly, to see a Latin phrase as a boat name. ' _Small but mighty_ '. Curious. The boat was moored to the dock, and there was a makeshift gangplank set up against the side and he mounted it, taking care with his steps so as to not get knocked off.

The design of the boat was strange. Different. Streamlined and made of material that was most decidedly not wood. He'd even go so far as to describe it as ' _futuristic_ ', because that was most likely how it really was. It wasn't of his century. It was probably much closer to Ash's time period than to his own. The thought of her again made him realize who it was that had found this thing. She was always wandering off on her own, when she wasn't teaching him something. She was also probably the one who tied the line and set up the gangplank. _Is this what she wanted to show me? This boat?_

She had been so insistent on coming here, tight-lipped on why they were heading this way, that he wouldn't have been surprised. Allen wandered the deck, pausing to take in the high-rising cliffs, the distant horizon where the clouds gathered and the sun fought to peer through. It was getting dark, though, and the clouds were painted a deeply bruised purple and blue. In the distant, he could hear faint rumblings. He sighed. Just what they needed on Yamatai: another storm.

Allen stiffened. He heard something. It sounded like a voice. It was muffled and tinny, too quiet to make out the words, but distinct enough to recognize all the same. He turned back away from the gunwale and spotted a door. Through the small glass window, he could make out the flickering of light. He crossed the deck and just as he was about to grasp the doorknob, he stopped himself. Ash was most likely on the other side and if not her, then a Solarii brother, for sure. Confliction tore into him, and he stood there for nearly a minute, trying to decide whether or not to investigate. All the while, he could hear the voice inside, speaking softly. Then it grew quiet. So very quiet. He swallowed, his throat aching and dry, as he grabbed the doorknob and opened it.

It turned out to be Ash behind it. Her back was turned to him and she was hunched over a console. A bright screen sat in front of her, but there was nothing there. Just light. She didn't turn to acknowledge him. She said nothing at all. He remained in the doorway, frozen between coming inside and leaving her where she was. Allen wasn't sure how long he stood there, or how long she remained immobile where she was, but it felt like an eternity and only a few seconds all at once.

"I was…wrong."

He startled when she finally spoke. Ash's voice sounded so rough and hoarse, he almost didn't recognize it. He almost believed it had been someone else entirely, that they weren't alone, just the two of them.

"I was wrong, for saying you were no better than the Solarii. That was…that was stupid of me."

He blinked at her owlishly, shocked. She remained where she was, still hunched over the console beneath the glowing screen.

"I really am the one who's no better than the Solarii. Stupid of me to say that. I'm…" She stopped herself short, balling one of her hands up into a fist. Her knuckles cracked so loud, he could hear it from across the room. "I'm the monster here. I can't even say I have a shred of humanity left because I'm not human anymore, and I—"

She laughed. It was soft and without a trace of warmth or humour. He's rarely heard her laugh before. He would have believed her incapable of it on more than one occasion, to be truthful.

"I can't wash the blood from my hands, no matter how much I scrub. For every life I save, I've probably taken away ten in their place. And it doesn't matter how much good I do, maybe I'm just…not a good person."

Ash straightened a little in place, but she still looked…beaten. Tired. _Small_. It was as though all her quiet bravado and sharp words and armour had built her up into someone larger than she really was. Underneath it all, she was just a tiny woman in frame and stature and she looked more like that than what he was normally used to.

"I'm a little jealous, you know. Of the Solarii Brothers. I hear them talking sometimes, about the lives they believe are still back where they came from. Families and friends and time they think they've lost. And all I can think of is, 'they get to remember'. They get to have that. And me? I don't get jack shit. I don't get that at all. I don't get to look in a mirror, and say 'I got my mom or dad's eyes or nose or face or stupid-as-shit-stubbornness'. I-I don't get to recall all the stupid shit I got away with as a kid and I don't get to shudder at all the things that should have killed me and I survived it. I don't get to recall the people I went to school with or grew up with. I don't get to know if I had friends, any at all, nothing. I have _nothing_ _left_."

Another barking fit of laughter that sounded so cold, it made a shiver run up his spine. It faded just as quickly as it had come, with a bitter tinge in the aftermath hanging in the air. She heaved a sigh and pushed herself away from the console, another bout of silence steeped between them. When she spoke again, if it was possible, her voice had grown softer, quieter. He would even dare to say, more vulnerable. Perhaps the most he's ever heard before from her.

"All I get when I try to think of how things might have been for me, is a gaping black hole where my memories should be. Everyone I might have known or cared for, they're dead. I already know that much. They've been dead for…hundreds of years. And every day, I try to think, 'who did I grow up with, who raised me, who loved me' and every day, I just…get nothing. I have _nothing_ to hold onto. My memories have just…rotted away. I have nobody to look forward to, no one to mourn. I wish I could use the excuse that I'm doing all that I do here for survival, that I'm doing it so I can eventually leave and get back to…whoever I used to call my loved ones. But to be honest, I don't even know anymore. It's just…a kneejerk reaction now. The Solarii shoot at me, I shoot back. I don't even think about trying to make peace any longer. They don't want it."

Ash turned around as she spoke, leaning up against the console with her arms crossing over her chest. She kept her eyes pinned to the floor, as though she was deciphering something hidden there that only she could understand. He could see, though, her face was gaunt and ruddy-cheeked, and heavy bruised bags sat beneath her eyes, like she hadn't slept in days, weeks.

She'd been _crying_.

"I'll bet even you remember someone's face. Someone whose memory keeps you grounded. Sane, even. You might be saner than any of us on Yamatai combined, really. It's practically been overnight for you, but they're still there, aren't they? Up in your head, I mean."

He didn't have an idea of how to respond to that, any of it, really. This was the most she'd ever spoken on a personal level with him. So earnest, so truthful. She even admitted to being wrong. Apologized. Recognized her flawed methods. He was starting to question whether or not he was dreaming or worse, dying and Compies were nibbling at his face. He discreetly pinched his arm and flinched when the pain registered, crystal clear, and he recognized that yes indeed, this was real. She was actually…opening up.

This was perhaps the closest she'd ever get to baring to anyone her soul. Did werewolves even have souls? They had to have a soul, right?

Allen shook that last thought away. Carefully, he crossed the threshold and turned to lean against the console beside her. She looked more exhausted up close, like the weight of the world was crushing down on her shoulders and back, but she wasn't quite ready to bow out quite yet. She didn't look at him as he approached. She was avoiding his gaze, avoiding looking at him directly, even when he came to stand right beside her.

She didn't say anything for a good, long minute. He was still searching for the right thing to say. What could he say to someone who's been alive for much longer than he has, who's seen and most likely done so much more on this little island than he's done in the last sixteen years of his life? She hasn't seen much outside of Yamatai for centuries, but something told him that despite her limited scope of the world, she still had more to give than she was willing to let on.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her voice was so soft; he thought he had imagined it at first. Simple and quiet words and they had sounded so…fragmented, and they were coming from her. They were words she probably hadn't said in years, words she wasn't used to saying, even. When he looked back at her, he was suddenly reminded that she could, in fact, actually cry. He remembered the night they had lost that man to a piece of shrapnel in his gut after a nasty storm that had passed through, and how she had tried so damned hard to save him, and ended up losing him all the same in the end. He recalled how she had cried when they lit the funeral pyre and asked him if it was stupid of her to cry for a stranger who had no one else to mourn his loss in the world. A complete stranger. She had cried for a complete and utter stranger's death and it was the first time he's seen her do it.

Now she was crying again.

Without thinking, he reached over and wiped away the tear that was rolling down her cheek. She flinched, and he nearly expected her to move away. Instead she snapped her head up and glanced at him sharply, like a deer caught in the light of a torch. She stared at him like she was going to flee from the gentle touch, or retaliate in a violent manner because she didn't know how to react appropriately. He could see the gears turning in her eyes and they suddenly froze, trying to unjam themselves and send up a response for her to issue out.

"I don't agree with how you deal with the Solarii. There could be better ways. Why Mathias believes turning to violence and murder, and forcing such choices upon those who follow him to obtain his goals in leaving this place is beyond me," he started slowly, choosing his words with care as he pulled his hand away from her face. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand, as though expecting him to strike unexpectedly, but she remained still. It felt more like he was trying to handle one of her raptors than another person the way she watched him so sharply.

"But I was wrong for saying you were no better than they are. You, at the very least, try to help people, where they actively seek to hurt them. You give those who wash up on these shores a choice, like me. You didn't force me to stay. In fact, you were more adamant on my leaving."

He smiled, attempting to soften the situation. She didn't return the gesture. But at least she was looking at him now, studying his face as though trying to decipher what he was going to say or do next.

"I don't agree with your methods," he repeated. "But I don't agree with theirs, either. Just like you don't seem to agree with mine."

He tried to offer her another smile, another opportunity to perhaps lighten up, but she didn't seem to be buying into it. His smile eventually faded and he sighed quietly. "I'm sorry you don't remember anyone. It…it must be hard. I can't imagine forgetting the people I miss."

"You never talk about them."

"It doesn't mean I don't miss them any less."

She didn't have an answer to that. He had to think of something else to say. She continued to watch him like one of the raptors would, with that unblinking stare that they were so good at when they were focused on something that held their interest.

"When you…when you have to…burn someone's body. To let them pass on, I mean…when you cry, is it…" He hesitated, feeling his face flush. He bit his lip, chewing on it before pushing forward. "Do you…pretend that they're someone you might have known, when you could still recall your memories? Someone you loved?"

"Yes," she said, her voice soft once more. "Sometimes."

Night had finally and fully fallen upon them. There were blinking lights in the cabin of the boat, a soft amber glow from somewhere else and the luminosity of the screen behind them gave off enough ambient light to see by. He could hear the sea outside, gently lapping up against the boat, but occasionally the clipped growl of thunder rumbled to remind them another storm was coming.

"We should look around. This boat looks like it was abandoned in a hurry. Maybe most of the supplies are intact."

Allen sighed as Ash pushed away from the console they had both been leaning on. Whatever atmosphere that was between them had all but vanished and her usual air of indifference was once more cocooning her, but Allen sensed a bit of a change. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he could sense it all the same. He just hoped it was for the better.

"You…had a rather sudden change of heart," he prodded carefully, watching as she moved about the cabin, pausing at another console on the adjacent wall to where he stood. She was inspecting something, although he wasn't sure what. "You usually take days to mull over something like this. But this time was different. Why?"

"It's just what the Doctor ordered, I suppose. I'm a stubborn idiot too ingrained in my ways without glancing at the highway option. Maybe it's high time I looked into other…methods."

Allen hadn't a clue what a 'highway option' was, but he cautiously assumed it meant something good. That was what her tone was insinuating, at least.

…he hoped.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	11. Chapter Eleven: Discovery

**Chapter Eleven:  
Discovery**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _I am a man of fortune and I must seek my fortune."_  
 **-Henry Avery**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"What is all of this?"

Allen immediately felt sheepish for posing the question when Ash looked at him in that ' _are you stupid_ ' manner of hers without being overly obvious about it. She looked away after only a few moments of holding his gaze with that look, and opened a cabinet with a glass cover.

"Medicine. All in good condition."

"I…figured that much, but…"

"But you weren't too sure. Despite the fact that this looks like a regular medical ward."

"Not like the ones I'm used to…"

"Oh. Right. Late nineteenth-century didn't have wards like these."

He stared at her, gob smacked at her rather pointed comment. "You-you knew what time I was from?"

He didn't recall telling her exactly what time period, or even the exact date, that he had come from. He knew on some level that she suspected something wasn't right, but he hadn't really said much on the matter. Or completely outright, even.

"Your clothing when you first arrived suggested late nineteenth-century origins. The style was more reminiscent of that of an older military uniform I wouldn't see anywhere else, except in modern day military ceremonies. You stared like a slack-jawed idiot when you saw all those old World War II-era vehicles for the first time. There were also the questions you asked about that war, and the war before it, and then the wars that happened after both of those…yeah. It's kind of hard not to notice you were a fish out of the wrong century, never mind the water."

She shrugged when he continued to stare at her, somewhat amazed and disturbed at her observations. So she knew. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out, and he wasn't denying it, sure, but still. She hadn't said much on the matter, and he could already hear her saying, ' _does it matter?_ ' In the end, he figured it really didn't. He was here now.

He busied himself with looking over some other equipment in the room they were in. The counters were a pristine white and very clean, like they had never been used. Ash was perusing through a shiny white box embossed with a green sigil taller than her—he couldn't see it very well, she was blocking most of it—and when she opened it, soft light came pouring out of it. He came closer as she threw the door open. Inside were more vials of what he presumed to be medicine and he could feel a chill sweep over him the closer he ventured toward the box.

"What is this thing?"

"A refrigerator. Electricity is making it run, that's why there's light when I open it. When I close it, there's a button the door presses that turns it off. The fridge is temperature controlled as well. It's meant to keep certain medicines from spoiling. Although most of these look like they're just being stored, they don't really need to be in here…hmm." Ash trailed off, reaching for a vial marked with very fine print on its label. "Morphine. High grade stuff you can only find in hospitals, private practices…and expensive yachts like this. Hmm."

She continued ' _hmming_ ' thoughtfully as she perused, taking out bags with filled with clear liquids. She closed the fridge after going through a few items, then moved toward some of the cabinets above the counters. She glowered at them for a long, sullen minute with her lips pressed into a hard line. Then she hopped onto the counter, raising herself up to their level. It hit Allen moments later why she didn't simply reach for them and he felt a little guilty that he didn't realize it sooner. He would have opened them for her.

Ash was unperturbed, however, as she threw cabinet doors open, pulling out items that looked like long, flexible tubes and clear cups with white tops, packages with needles and syringes inside them, packets of gauze, and rolls of bandages and medical tape.

It was a small medical clinic; that much was clear. But most of the items Ash was offhandedly inspecting were items Allen had only seen and it made him recall just how different things were in his time versus now. They were familiar items, most of them anyway, but they were also improved upon in design and perhaps even function and material. He turned away to inspect another cabinet, finding bottles filled with pills that were labeled with names he couldn't even pronounce half the time, never mind spell if it came down to it.

"I am proud to announce that we have hit the motherload treasure trove with this discovery."

"Did you know all of this was here?"

"I knew the boat was here. I saw it floating out in the cove near here, right in a sweet spot where the currents wouldn't be able to pull towards the cliffs to get smashed up. I knew it would end up like that eventually, though. I swam out, inspected the condition, drove it around, tied it to the deck here, came back home, got you. I figured we'd look together."

She shrugged at him, like it was the most obvious course of actions in the world. In her head, it probably was.

"I assume that all these supplies are a rare commodity to come across, especially on a boat so intact out here."

"You assume correctly."

There was hesitation in her voice just then, like she had something else to say. He remained quiet, waiting. The moment passed them by, and she said nothing else in the end.

They left the little medical room and into a stairwell that led down. It led them to a bedroom. The mattress was sizeable and took up most of the room, with only a few shuffling steps' worth of room around it. Ash frowned the entire time, poking at the comforter and blankets.

"I have not seen a real bed in decades," she commented so offhandedly, like she was reporting the weather with passing interest. Ash promptly collapsed onto the mattress and snuggled into it, destroying the once-neat prim and proper arrangement of bedding. "So soft! I forgot what nice blankets felt like!"

Allen stared, wide-eyed and mouth agape at the display. Ash had already entangled herself in the blankets until she resembled a little ball of clothe rather than the small werewolf he knew. Only her eyes could be seen and they were shining with mirth she usually reserved for hunts and socializing with the raptors.

"So soft," she repeated with a fervent whisper, her voice mostly muffled by the very blankets she was wrapped in. Allen finally felt a smile quirk his lips upwards and he burst out laughing.

"You look ridiculous! You're all—wrapped up!"

He leaned on the doorjamb and doubled over, giggling over how utterly and completely preposterous she looked. Ash didn't seem to mind and took it all in stride. She eventually flopped over, still balled up in the blankets and comforter, humming contentedly.

"Laugh all you want. I'll get you back later."

He choked back down the rest of his giggles, his sides hurting in the end, but it was a good kind of hurt. The kind he hadn't felt in much too long.

"I think I needed that," he merely responded. Ash was picking her way out of the blankets, balling them up and tossing them over onto the bed. She pulled herself off of it, leaving it a rumpled mess in comparison to when they had arrived. She was quick to divert her attention elsewhere, which turned out to be a sliding closet door. Inside were a series of drawers and further in, Allen could make out clothes hanging in the back. Ash was already raiding through the drawers, noisily clacking them open and rifling through the items.

As he watched her go through the things, his earlier humour began to fade and turn acerbic. This boat was certainly a godsend, they needed new supplies. But somehow, looking at this room, and the clothes, and thinking of all the other items they've come across—it somehow felt…wrong.

"Wait," he said, drawing her attention towards him. She paused, hands buried beneath rolls of clothing. "This…this used to belong to someone. These things…what if these people are alive? What if they're out there, somewhere on Yamatai, and we're going through their things, stealing them?"

Ash studied him in the faint overhead light. It was controlled, she had told him earlier, to become bright or dim and she showed him how. He could just make out her features, and he was almost tempted to turn to the dial on the wall and turn it up, if only to look at her more clearly.

"They're long gone," she said at last. He frowned at her.

"How can you be so sure?" He pressed with urgency in his voice. "You told me—you found the boat, got it down here, and then came and got me. Did you even check for signs of survivors?"

She didn't answer at first. Allen didn't take it as a good sign. Ash slowly pulled her hands out of the drawer, smoothed out the rumpled clothing, and closed the drawer with a soft 'click'. She took in a breath and then tapped the side of her nose.

"I checked all these rooms, before I brought it in. I actually skimmed around the outskirts of the island. At night, of course. I didn't want to be seen. Unlike the Solarii, I can see in the darkness perfectly fine. I saw no life boats suggesting any survivors. The radio chatter has been quiet for a while. If they found anyone, the Solarii would have been squawking." She ticked a brow upward at him, as though in challenge. She was expecting him to rebuke her. The seconds ticked by awkwardly when he didn't.

"You're…positive?"

"Does it help my argument if I say that this boat hasn't had a real sign of life in what seems like weeks? I don't know if you noticed this, but there's a pretty hefty collection of dust around here. Like this boat was abandoned on purpose." A thoughtful look streaked across her face, and then it slowly morphed into something deeper. Like something was clicking away and it wasn't clicking _right_ with her.

"It was abandoned on purpose," she repeated, rolling her tongue over the words with precision and care. "Someone abandoned this thing on purpose. They left, just out of range of the island, and let it drift. They were hoping for someone to get to it."

When Ash looked back up at him, there was a fevered light in her eyes, a moment of realization, of understanding. "They left it on purpose for us to find. Someone knows we're here and they know they can't come too close to the island. Someone knows about the Sun Queen."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

It turned out, all the clothes and materials and supplies and everything else in between had been organized in such a way that it wasn't meant for someone taking a leisurely vacation out at sea. Allen and Ash, as they picked their way through the innards of the yacht throughout the night, found that there were readied means in which to take out everything. In the cramped storage space, there were empty packs and chests, ready to be filled up to capacity for travel.

"Someone knows," Ash kept repeated, sometimes more forcefully than necessary. "They fucking _know_ we're here."

Allen couldn't quite tell if she was elated or angry. It was a bit blurry at this point. But he personally kept feeling a fluttery lightness in his chest. Life was suddenly surreal and airy. He kept focusing on the positive in those muttered words cracked out like the gunshots and not held with the reverence they should have been. It was almost a relief when the rain started sometime in the night, the gentle patter of rainwater drumming against the sea and the boat. It would almost be soothing, if his thoughts weren't so rattled.

Someone knew. Someone on the outside world, perhaps some of the people that Ash has rescued and successfully sent off the island, ensured this boat had been sent to them. Their benevolent benefactor, whoever they were, wanted to give them hope. _They know we're here and they want to make sure we survive. Or at the very least, they know she's here._

It could have been that rather large group they had housed not too long ago, the group of benders and the two Avatar-figures.

 _But why haven't they come to the island proper?_

The question came to him more than once, and every time, he had to recall what Ash had told him in the past: " _I_ can't _leave. The Sun Queen won't_ let _me leave. I haven't figured a way to stop her from coming back permanently. Until then…I'm the one who has to stay behind. And everyone else gets to leave. That's just the way it is._ "

By the time they had thoroughly inspected the yacht, it was nearly dawn. After a while, Ash had finally moved away from her mutterings and focused on inventorying everything, and that eventually came to packing. Exhaustion made Allen feel heavy and sore from all the exploring, lifting, carrying. He found himself passed out on the couch later on, an actual pillow under his head and a blanket over him. It was nearly midday, he noted sleepily, as he sat up and stretched, yawned, and promptly cringed right after when his stomach gave a hungry growl in protest.

He quickly found out why: the air smelled delicious. Like, cooked proper food, delicious-smelling and hunger-inducing. For once, he could actually follow his nose and he found himself in the kitchenette. It was small and cramped, much like the rest of the boat's limited space, yet it also appeared surprisingly cozy. Food was laid out on the counters, plopped on clean plates and clean utensils. He showed none of it any mercy and before he knew it, everything had been devoured, right down to the crumbs. He barely even noticed some of it had been lukewarm at best. It was still some of the best food he's had in a long time.

Only after he had gone through it all did he notice how awfully quiet it was. He could hear the waves lapping against the hull of the ship, and the cry of the gulls outside. But any telltale signs of Ash rifling through this part or another of the ship was null and void. Allen glanced at the counter where he had piled up the dirty dishes.

He wandered about the boat, running into empty rooms void of any of their contents.

 _She must be ferrying the supplies back home without me,_ he thought glumly. _She let me sleep in and made the food for me and left to carry everything on her own._

He groaned in frustration. What a _stubborn_ woman.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen resorted to packing the rest of the things Ash hadn't gotten to yet. He grabbed a number of packs and bags, and tried stuffing in as much as he could into each one. The medical supplies, thankfully enough, she seemed to have taken away first. That much was good. He was afraid he'd break some of the more delicate-looking equipment or drop a precious vial of rare medicine.

The kitchen was the first place he hit, although he had to clean up the sullied dishes up first. Figuring that out was a bit of an experience, but he adjusted quickly enough in figuring out the sink. After he cleaned everything, he toweled them off when done and carefully packed them away. Or as carefully as he could. He just hoped they'd make the journey back.

When he finished in the kitchenette, he took to the other rooms, but found them already packed or even emptied out, much like the medical ward. The last place he checked was the bedroom. He was half-expecting it to be packed up, one of the first to go besides the medical equipment. Instead, he was surprised to find it untouched and sitting on the bed was Ash.

She had something clapped over her wolfish ears, a headband of some sort he reasoned, and her hands over all of that.

When he flung the door open, she snapped her head in his direction. The lighting here was marginally better than it had been last night, and it was clearer to see she was crying.

Again.

He didn't believe he'd ever see that again, not for a good long while. Strangely enough, she was smiling; her face painted in pure awe and it was, for once, drained of all tension. There was no mask, no hardened gaze. She stared at him as she slid the headband down from her skull, eyes wide and wet with tears.

"Ash?"

"It's music," she whispered as a pair of tears rolling down her wet cheeks and she laughed in earnest and it was _so_ _strange_ hearing it come from her. Strange but oddly enough at the same time, it was a welcoming sound all the same in spite of the situation. " _It's_ _music_."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The ship was quickly stripped of everything that wasn't nailed down, and even that didn't stop Ash. Some items she commandeered with relish. She had Báthory and Carmilla become pack-mules of sorts, although the raptors she strangely left alone. The former two couldn't make their way to the hidden alcove, but once Ash and Allen got past some of the more perilous cliff terrain, the two rexes were standing by patiently, awaiting for more gear to be loaded into makeshift saddlebags Ash had jerry-rigged for them both.

When they completed their task of taking every piece of gear from the ship, it had been absolutely gutted. Looking at it from the outside in, one could never tell. It was a shell and a clever one at that. When the last items had been taken, Allen asked about what if the Solarii found it.

"They'll find it all right. And they'll be in for a nasty surprise when they come to investigate," she merely quipped back. Ash had even taken the boat's engine. That was how dedicated she was to stripping it down to every part she could possibly get. She claimed it was for parts. He thought otherwise, but said nothing in regards to it. It took them the better part of three days to complete it, but in the end, it was fairly rewarding.

Their home was suddenly a packrat's dream: boxes and bags and chests and footlockers galore were filled to the brim with all kinds of gear, equipment, supplies, and more.

A working generator that wasn't decades old was put into working order first and its buzz saw hum filled up the air until it faded into background noise. Over the next several days, they sorted through everything, catalogued it all, and stored it away in appropriately marked containers. The renovations that those benders who could move the very earth were a boon in disguise; with more rooms created and the homestead phenomenally expanded, they had more than enough ample room for storage. Even his own room had a good amount of space in which he could store items in now. It was no longer a tiny cubby in the wall with a mattress and beat up dresser stuffed inside it.

It actually, oddly enough, looked like a home and not some makeshift campsite they just happened to live in.

They even had a new couch! It was infinitely more comfortable than the ragtag cobbled-together pilot seats from the old war planes they had melded together. He actually fell asleep on it several times, and while he got a mild kink in the neck, it wasn't terribly bad, versus the ones he gained from the last set. And every time he did, he'd find himself with a blanket draped over him when he awoke—something he didn't fall asleep with, that much he knew.

He even sensed a change in Ash. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but she was less reserved around him. She was a little more open, and she spoke a bit more as well. It was in broken bits and pieces here and there, but he noticed the progress more often these days. It wasn't necessarily an instant overnight transition, of course. She had her bumps to traverse, but regardless, he could articulate she was attempting to actually _connect_ rather than simply exist alongside him.

He could first tell the signs of change in her when he noticed that she smiled more often. It wasn't a smirk or a tight-lipped grin, either. It felt genuine, like he was seeing the real her, the one she'd probably buried deep down for years.

And he found that he was right: she was prettier when she smiled.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Nearly a month passed since their discovery of the boat. He talked to her often about the possibility of who might have sent it. She had often repeated that she barely remembered half the people she rescued, let alone their scent marks. Some from the beginning of her time on the island, whenever that had all started, she couldn't remember at all. She highly doubted any of her early rescues were even alive, as a majority of them had been human. That much she was confident about, as well as it not being the group of benders.

In the end, it remained a highlighted, yet welcome mystery. He could engage with her more freely without overly worrying about overstepping his bounds, or fearing he might trigger that temper of hers. She didn't sulk in brooding silences as often, either. And with the change that came with her, it slowly ingratiated with the raptors. Or so he believed. They were less snappish around him, and they actually responded without needing extra prompting from Ash like they normally did.

It was almost as though they saw him as one of their pack mates. It was a startling revelation when it occurred to him, but it was another welcome change at that. Clover was especially was fond of him. She even let him preen her feathers from time to time. His newly furnished mattress was covered in feathers and the smell of feather dust permeated the air in his room.

As the weeks continued to stretch on, the numbers of the Solarii dissipated. Strangely enough, they weren't death-by-werewolf related, either. Not directly. Ash slowly, painfully, but surely, refrained from actively seeking them out. Instead, she tried to avoid them altogether. Whether it was for his sake or not, Allen couldn't weasel an answer out of her. It was the one subject she remained mum on. He had to reluctantly chalk it up to the Solarii's risky behavior and death-by-dinosaur-inhabitants instead. The Oni themselves were a completely different story. Those, Ash had remained adamant about defending against, actively or not.

"They're bound by a supernatural oath to serve their queen. They are physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of not following their orders."

"But Himiko is dead."

"For now," Ash would reply breezily. "And unlike the Solarii, who are actual men, human beings, even…the Oni have slowly changed into something…else. Something not human. More beast than man. They _eat_ people, Allen. They have an entire room filled with corpses that they store away and feed upon inside the monastery. I'll respect your decision to not harm the Solarii, but you had better damn well listen to me when I tell you this: the Oni _aren't_ human. They are _monsters_. Literal ones, not figurative ones."

He didn't disbelieve her, especially when she emphasized the point so much more than she ever had with the Solarii. After the few isolated incidents when they ran into the Oni, the former Stormguard for Himiko, he had decidedly reflected that perhaps she was right. He decided, if reluctantly, that he could indeed extend the courtesy of putting the Oni out of their long-lived miseries. It was perhaps the only instance in which he'd raise his clawed left hand against a living enemy on Yamatai.

It didn't mean he'd enjoy it.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"What…is going on?"

Allen stared at the assorted paperwork that lay scattered on their table. The campfire was, as usual, roaring away. It was wonderful having the air not stink like smoke all the time. And being able to actually breathe was a bonus. The change in design those earth benders had made were once again appreciated so greatly, even now.

Ash stood slowly from her spot, carefully pulling the piles together. She actually looked sheepish, genuine and true. He was still getting used to the fact that she could appear as such. He had grown used to her hardened features that seeing anything else was still mind-boggling at times.

"You ruined the surprise," she stated with a resigned sigh. Allen blinked several times at her, taken aback.

"A…surprise?" He parroted slowly back, lips faintly quirking as he glanced around them. "You mean, a bigger surprise than our boat full of things?"

She shrugged back. "Something like that."

Allen took a longer cursory glance at the papers on the table. The sheets of paper were filled with drawings; and they looked suspiciously like starry skies and constellations. He met her eyes and she shrugged again.

"Astronomy," she said, as though that was all the answer he needed. He stared blankly back, not quite getting it. She sighed and continued, "I've been here for hundreds of years. While I don't recall how many, exactly, I always have a vague sense of the seasons because of the position of the stars."

"Oh…oh! Right! Because they aren't in the same places each season, all the constellations like…um…Leo and-and the bear, what's it called…Ursa Major," he blurted, feeling a mite bit proud of himself for the tidbit of knowledge. She nodded in return slowly, acknowledging his answer. He beamed back.

Ash was taking her time in gathering everything and putting it back together again in a more comprehensible, neat stack. Then she pulled something else out from the bottom of the pile, clutching it close to her chest.

"I know, roughly, how long you've been here and what season it is. Even with Himiko interfering, you can tell it's getting colder outside."

"I have, now that you mention it."

Among the clothes from the boat they had scavenged, there were plenty of longer sleeved shirts and sweaters, and something called a 'hoodie jacket'. He came to find he liked hoodies, if only because they were warm, thick, had pockets, and of course, a hood. It could never replace his Black Order coat, but the hood on the jacket helped him stand out less on the island whenever they went out. White hair, as it turned out, did not do too well when it came to applying stealth on an island that was otherwise vibrant in colour. It made him more of a target than usual.

Allen dug his hands deep into the pockets of the hoodie he was wearing, tilting his head at her. If there was anything Ash wasn't, it was shy. Reserved, maybe. But never shy. She took her time gathering her thoughts, culling the right ones to say, before she opened her mouth to speak again.

"I used to…well, I never actually kept track of the days or the months, not even the years, obviously, before you came here. I knew the seasons, but I never kept record of how many passed. And…that's okay for _me_ to do. I can get away with losing track of the passage of time because I honestly don't care anymore. You can't afford that, though, not really. You're human, you…I used to know what that was like. Vaguely." She paused to clear her throat. She pulled the item she had clutched to her chest out and inspected it. "I don't have it down to the day, but I figured you could use this more than I ever could, although I kind of estimate we're in or around December timeframe. If my calculations with the constellations are correct."

She presented the item to him and it immediately connected in tandem to what she was speaking about the moment she did. It was a calendar; hand-made, hand drawn.

Gingerly, as though it might slip away from his grasp if he wasn't careful, he took it into his hands and inspected it.

The front cover was done in charcoal, a gorgeous reincarnated drawing of the raptors, their arms spread and their legs kicking out, like they preparing to take flight and not take off running. He flipped through the pages, found more drawings. All of them, predictably, were of dinosaurs, but they were also engulfed with lively backdrops and environments that coupled nicely with the hand-drawn calendar days. January had Báthory, front and center, her jaws gaping with steak-knife-sized teeth bared in full, her eyes focused with zest on her next target. She was charging out of the forest, with leaf litter crunching beneath her massive weight, and trees bent out of her way as she came pushing through. He could practically hear her furious roar and his ears rang slightly in remembrance of just how loud and terrifying a sound it was.

February featured a pair herd of sauropods, the long-necked dinosaurs, and in the far corner, a tiny etching of what Allen assumed to be one of the raptors watched from a safe distance. March showed off a Dilophosaurus, its proud head-crest complimenting its flashy neck display. He could almost hear the rattles chattering away and the raspy hiss they always made when trying to intimidate prey and foes alike.

He moved on, vaguely skimming the days that had little pencil tick marks on them—tick marks, he realized, that he could easily erase and then redo later on. _Days I've been here, perhaps?_

Trikes and Compies showed up, as well as Hadros and Gallies, and others he had never seen before. They were all immersed in rich backgrounds and she somehow managed to bring the black, grey, and white toned charcoal drawings to life with impressive details. It was an immersive and diverse ecosystem she had managed to bring to life and put onto paper.

Carmilla made her appearance in the very end in the December entry. Her eerie snowy white scales were complimented nicely with the soft grey backdrop she was placed in, standing atop a cliff overlooking the pale, almost smooth-as-glass sea. He closed the calendar and found Ash wasn't tidying up any longer. She was watching him, her frame tense, looking ready to bolt or fidget or any number of things that didn't quite fit with her lately.

"It's…not perfect, I'm sorry. I've estimated that you've been here for nearly a year, give or take a few weeks, but I—" She started, but she immediately cut herself off when he moved forward and threw his arms around her. She froze up, and that much about her was predictable. She simply stood there, and he could feel the tension in her, tight and rigid, and dear god, was she really that _small_? She was tinier than he was!

And all this time she had him fooled with puffing herself up and the like, and yet she barely reached his shoulder. He suddenly felt very tall, since he normally didn't—couldn't, even—get this close to her on a normal basis. Pah, 'beansprout'. More like bean _stalk_ now. A few seconds passed and she still hadn't responded, nothing beyond the softly and fairly quickly asked, "What the fuck is this?"

"You're so out of touch; it's called a hug."

"I know what a hug is."

"Just hug me back, would you, you're making it awkward."

" _You're_ making it awkward…" she grumbled back.

He felt a hand pat him in a stilted motion on his back, just at the bottom of his shoulder blades. His throat tightened and went dry and he squeezed his eyes shut. A sob wracked him. Ash stiffened even further, if was possible. Somehow she made it so before breaking from his embrace, holding him at arm's length.

"What-why, why are you crying, you shouldn't be crying. Stop. Stop that." She looked more than a little uncomfortable, staring up at him. Up. She was actually close enough to be staring up at him and not just…well, _at him._ "I thought you'd like it."

He laughed, although it came out in a series of hiccups. "I do, I really do! These drawings, they're great! I knew you could draw, but these…these are amazing. And now…" He paused, skimming through the pages, stopping at the last page. "I know the dates. I mean, it's not perfect to the day, but it's better to have an idea rather than not at all. Thank you. I mean it. This is…"

Allen grinned at her, and he felt his face heating up and his eyes grow itchy and wet. He was going to cry. This simple gift was more than enough, more than he could have asked for. He hugged her again, although Ash was better prepared the second time around and her pats weren't as awkwardly paced. That was fine. He didn't expect her to suddenly change within the last five minutes. A pat was closer to a hug then nothing at all.

" _Thank you._ "

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Notes: Ash doesn't know how to person sometimes. She's a ball of awkward.**


	12. Chapter Twelve: Hurricane

**Chapter Twelve:  
Hurricane**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _Tell me would you kill to save a life?  
Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?  
Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn  
This hurricane's chasing us all underground_  
 **-"** _ **Hurricane**_ **" by 30 Seconds From Mars**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

A woman was singing. Reasonably, Allen first believed it to be Ash, although he's never heard her sing before. But it was only logical for him to conclude that it was Ash singing, right?

Well, he was wrong, and he found that out rather quickly, when he discovered Ash lounging on the couch. Her eyes were closed, her mouth not moving, and yet the music was still playing from somewhere. Soon enough, he saw that it was playing from a device sitting on the battered coffee table they still had. Ash adamantly refused to get rid of the poor old thing. It looked like it had taken on a few rounds with a mountain, lost every time, and fell down it every time it did for good measure. She, for some inexplicable reason, still retained a sentimental attitude towards the table that he's given up questioning about.

At the very least, though, Ash looked immensely relaxed. He couldn't recall the last time he's seen her like this because, well…she never truly ever had been. Not around him. As he ventured closer, Ash peeped an eye open to glance over in his direction, briefly smiled, then closed it again with a contented sigh. She patted the open space beside her on the couch.

"Come. Sit. Enjoy the music of my people."

"Your people?" He asked, amused. Allen took a seat, settling in against the comfort of the couch and listened. The device that it was playing from was a small rectangular object, thin, with a reflective screen and a circular pad with symbols.

"Pat Benatar," Ash remarked absently. "I think…no…I _know_ , I grew up listening to her. It's fuzzy, but…I remember this stuff. It's funny, isn't it? I can remember music, but not what my mother's face looked like. What a copout."

She heaved a long sigh. He felt a pang of sympathy for the longing in her sigh.

"At least you're remembering something. Maybe if there're more things you had to remind of yourself, you might remember other things?"

"Yeah, that could be a valid theory…except for the part where I'm only vaguely aware of inanimate concepts and objects such as music and mechanical engineering and historical significance, up to a vague point. I know what song this is, and I know how to fix a boat engine, yet I know a car engine better. Memory recollection that is coupled alongside actual people or events or actual places, just…things that are _mine_ , it's _that_ that won't come back to me. I try to think of a time when I listened to good ole Pat here, like maybe while I'm in school or at home, but it's all blank. At least, I _think_ I went to school. Maybe. But my point is, the music is there; sure, I remember all that. But where was I when I was listening to her? Who was I with, what was I doing? It ain't there. I remember the music, just not everything else. It fucking _blows_."

She slumped in her seat, a scowl crossing her features. Allen remained quiet for the time being, mulling over a good way to respond to that. It seemed like such an impossibility to consider, this condition that was plaguing her. It was almost as though this particular memory relapse was targeting very specific sections of her mind. It very well could have been just that, though.

Yamatai was a strange and dangerous place that was mired with too many impossibilities enough as it was. The dinosaurs alone were testimony to that. Himiko the Sun Queen and her semi-immortal Stormguard-turned-Oni monsters were in another category altogether. Ash herself…she was yet another mystery. Werewolves in general were. Or werewolf, rather. He's only ever met the one, sitting right beside him, and he only had her word to go by when she claimed they were "all assholes", including herself. She was honest about the latter, he'll give her that much.

"What other music do you listen to?"

"I'm spoiling you with these historic hits, I'll have you know," she said, sitting up and leaning toward the table to snatch up the device. She rubbed her thumb along the circle and the screen lit up. "You are going to receive an excellent music education and you will be popular with the ladies in no time."

"Are there any other women on this island that I should be aware of?"

"Well, there's _me_. I _love_ this shit. Learn it, live it, love it."

"Then I suppose that'll have to do, seeing as you're the teacher and expert, apparently."

"Good answer."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They were pinned down in one of the old Japanese homes, with the Solarii just outside of it. Ash had just barred the door to keep them from getting inside. Fire was spreading up the woodworks, but Ash was holding back the worst of it, downsizing the nasty bits without being overly obvious about it. The Solarii were shouting and whooping at one another. One of them proclaimed that they were going to burn to death in this house. Apparently, these were the ones who didn't realize Ash was ironically fireproof. Ash simply snorted and made a show of rolling her eyes and pointed with her thumb while saying, "Oh, _this_ guy."

Allen wish she wouldn't make too light of the situation. There was still plenty of the fire to contend with, molding to her will or not. Ash then nodded at him and jerked her head toward the back of the burning house. "Over there; kick down those planks. I'm right behind you."

Allen didn't hesitate as he hurried over to where she had motioned to. The planks were weak and rotted with age and gave in easily after two kicks. The worst of the fire's heat may have been at bay thanks to her but the smoke was thick and burned at his throat and eyes. It was sweet relief to be outside, but he wasn't in the clear yet. Ash came scuttling after him through the hole in the wall, unperturbed by the smoke itself but she was visibly annoyed. Her face was sooty and predictably, she had a good amount of ash covering her as well. One particularly large smudge was smeared over her unmarred cheek. He couldn't help but snicker and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Oi. No laughing. We're not back in Kansas yet, Toto. We still gotta get the fuck out of Oz."

"Your face, it's—!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, your face too, now let's go!" She snapped, although there wasn't as much conviction and harshness in it like it used to. She gave him as gentle a push she could muster, urging him to get moving around the back of the burning home. He didn't need any other prodding and took off, the wooden boards beneath him creaking loudly as he went. She was right behind him, her bow at the ready.

He didn't see the Solarii brother come careening toward them until the last moment. The man tackled Ash, but not before she fired an arrow into the man's gut. He howled in anguish and rage as he slammed into her. She let out a string of colourful curses as the man's momentum sent them flying over the edge of the cliff the house was backed up against. A hard knot of dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he raced over, only to be startled by Ash hauling herself up over the lip of the cliff. Or trying to haul herself up and failing.

She was just barely hanging on by her right hand, and it was shaking so badly, he was afraid she was going to fall any moment. She wasn't able to lift her dangling arm up much further than a shaky shrug. It was made worse by the sight of the Solarii brother dangling beneath her, a makeshift climbing axe buried in her lower back. He was attempting to pull himself up, using her body as leverage. There was a wild light in his eyes as he was making better progress than she was. Allen dove and grabbed her arm and almost let go an instant later when she let out a hoarse cry.

He quickly recovered, tightening his grip.

"Give me your other hand!" He shouted, reaching down to grab at her other arm. She felt like dead weight and he could see the pain misting over her eyes. He knew her shoulders had been bad—he just didn't realize it was this bad.

"I can't fucking reach my arm up," she hissed back through clenched teeth. Allen's eyes darted between her tense face and the Solarii brother's manic yet equally terrified expression below. Ash was instead trying to reach behind her and dislodge the axe, but she wasn't making any better progress with that. She fixed him with a glare. "Run. They're coming around, I can hear them. Just let me drop, I'll meet up with you later. GO!"

He was going to argue, and began trying to pull her up, but she managed to wriggle loose from his grip and launched herself away by pushing against the cliff with her pawed feet. The Solarii brother hanging on by his axe screamed as he was suddenly thrown asunder into open air with her. Allen watched in horror as the two of them went plummeting into the darkness below. He didn't have time to think of anything else other than pluck up Ash's abandoned bow and run when the rest of the Solarii came plowing around the burning house, screaming after him.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"That was the most idiotic, harebrained, irresponsible—"

"I thought it was pretty awesome, but that's just my opinion—"

"You threw yourself _off a cliff_! You _and_ that Solarii brother!"

"He _buried_ an _axe_ in me, I'm pretty sure that's considered a war crime. I'm still waiting on the Geneva Convention to get back to me on that one."

"I could have lifted you up, I could have helped you! Instead, you let yourself fall, both of you, and you broke your back in the process and dislocated your arm!"

"To be fair, it was either waste time and risk you getting shot in the head—which, last I checked, _you_ can't recover from, you being _human_ and all—and a broken back is, for me, just another day in fucked-up paradise. I can get better from a broken back. You can't get better from a gunshot wound to the head. Or any major organs, if we're being honest here. I know worst aid. Not worst surgery."

"It took me almost _two days_ to find you and when I did, you couldn't walk. You were crawling and bleeding everywhere. You're lucky the Compies didn't find you first, or _worse_." Allen scowled. Ash shrugged.

"I couldn't reach the damned axe; a chunk of it was still in my spine. _My spine_. I need that for walking. But I was all better when you pulled it out."

"That's not the point."

"I think it is."

" _My point,_ " he stressed to her, "is that even though you can heal from all these injuries, doesn't mean you should put yourself in the way of harm like that on my behalf. I can handle myself."

"You were willing to let them execute you with a bullet to the back of the head while you worried about getting me back on level ground. That's the pot calling the kettle black, what you just did there. Don't try that logic on me, Allen Walker."

"I have an armoured cloak!"

"You mean that big, white fluffy thing you've pulled out of thin air once or twice before? No fucking way. That is a fashionable garment at best, fashion disaster at worst."

She stared at him in that sarcastically skeptical manner of hers: a brow ticked upward, eyes half-lidded, lips pursed, arms crossed. The epitome of skepticism, living incarnate. Two could play at this game. He smirked a bit.

"Yes, it is. Fluffy it may be, but it's tough."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"I'm not shooting you."

"I'm telling you, it won't go through. You won't hurt me."

"You know, I thought you were a bit touched in the head, but this is taking it to a whole new level. No. No way."

He decidedly allowed that rancorous comment slide. For now.

"Ash, I'm being serious, you can't hurt me, not with my Crown Clown activated. It's essentially armour, and it's the toughest in the world."

"Bullshit, it's gonna go through, and you're gonna be gut shot and then you'll bleed out and I'll have to do something really special, like write an actual obituary or something if you died. I'll be very choked up if you were hurt, no really. I would."

Allen snorted and lifted his cloak. "I promise, I'll be _fine_ —"

A clatter of gunshots rang out and he flinched in surprise. Impacts slammed into his cloak, throwing him off guard, but none of the rounds hit him. He blinked, wide-eyed at Ash. The pistol she had in her hands was smoking at the barrel slightly and she was staring at the area she had shot at with wide eyes. His ears were ringing but he could just barely make out Ash's words, muffled as they were.

Slowly, a hesitant grin was spreading across her face and she laughed.

"…so…big, white fashionably fluffy cloaks doubles as armour now? Where the fuck was I when this started happening and where can I get one?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"You know, I've been here for almost two years now, but…I don't think I've ever seen you…change."

"I have more than one set of clothes, Allen. Isn't that change enough for you?" Ash teased, but there was an edge to her words. A sense of humour she was trying to muster, but couldn't quite make it real enough. At the very least, she was getting better at relaxing around him. Joking, even.

"I meant…well, you say you can change forms. And its in your book. Werewolves…change shape, don't they?"

Ash fell quiet. It wasn't one of her more comfortable silences, either. She had those now, actually. It was a kind of hush that he actually felt calm being in when she was around. It wasn't electric with tension or palpable with uncertainty like when he first got to Yamatai.

But this…this felt off, somehow. Awkward was as close a description he could label it as, and even that wasn't quite on the head either.

"Ash?"

She stirred, but she didn't lift her gaze to meet his. He felt a frown tugging at his lips when she answered him after a few extra moments of tense silence.

"There isn't any reason you should want to see any more of the monster than you've witnessed already. It's best you never have to see that side of me."

"Ash, I—"

"No. Allen, just…just no. Please. Don't ask me to show you that side of me again. Please, just don't."

He didn't get another word in after that. She got up to retreat to her room. He didn't see her until the next morning.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Please don't."

"I can make that."

"You can't, I know how far you can jump. Admittedly, it's pretty far, farther than me at least, but you can't make that. Please don't jump."

"Wanna bet?"

Ash flashed him a rather wicked smile he was, secretly, glad to see more often than her usual trademark scowl.

"I'd rather not."

"That's 'cuz you know I'm gonna win."

"I don't think that, I just don't believe you can make it."

"I'm gonna do the thing."

"Ash, wait, Ash, no, no no!"

Too late.

She jumped. Allen sighed.

If he didn't think she was going to be the death of him before, now he did. She was going to worry him to death with these stunts she insisted on pulling and include him in to watch these days. That's it. That's how he was going to die. Death by stress. Not death by Akuma, or blood loss via Akuma or Noah or the Millennium Earl. It was going to be ' _Death By Worrying Over Ash And Her Stupid Stunts_.'

He wondered briefly if she'd put that on a tombstone for him.

Knowing her…probably.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Ow."

"I told you not to jump."

"But I made it," she quipped back, and lord almighty, he never felt the urge to smack someone for grinning at him that way before than now. She had a cat-got-the-canary grin plastered on her face, times ten. He could even see her canines and they were…they were big. Bigger than canines had any right to be. No wonder she tried to not smile with her teeth showing; it was slightly unnerving. How did she talk without a lisp of some sort…?

The only small victory he could claim in all of this above hers was being marginally right: she really shouldn't have jumped. Otherwise, her knee wouldn't be dislocated. It took him a better part of a half hour to convince her to let him pop it back into the joint, and not do it herself. He's seen the careless ways she's "fixed" herself and frankly, she was more than just rough around the edges in the treatment of her body. She displayed a delicacy for matters such as this the same way a ball of glass shards glued together was considered an appropriate play toy.

He worried about the times that she had no one at all to help her, how many times she's committed to stupid stunts such as these, or worse when she was alone. He worried about what she did when he wasn't looking, and how many times she's sustained an injury and didn't seek his help to alleviate it. Just because she could heal from it all, didn't mean she couldn't feel pain or couldn't suffer from the injuries.

He gripped her knee with one hand, and her calf on the other side. She leaned back against the armrest of the couch, an arm draped across her face. "Well, go on. Do it. Pop my knee back in."

He was glad he was braced for the kick when it came moments after he did as she asked.

Otherwise, he was pretty sure she would have accidentally broken some of his ribs.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Nope."

"It's just one card game. You've got a whole deck and I've never seen you play, not once."

"I hate card games. I know I suck at them, so what's the point? I'm better at strategy games. Like chess."

"I'm terrible at chess, and cards are easy enough to learn."

"Learning to map the stars is easier than card games."

Allen rolled his eyes, expertly shuffling the deck of cards in his hands. "Come on, just one game. I'll teach you."

Ash made a noise of disbelief and grumbled under her breath, but she plopped down all the same. She was eyeballing the deck like they were a venomous snake and she'd like nothing more than to fling it away from her as far as she possibly could. Why she kept them around at all was anyone's guess.

"I'll teach you the basics first, and then we'll play one game. Fair enough?"

She grumbled something about else that sounded somewhat of a cross between an affirmation and a curse directed his way.

Oh, this was going to be fun. He was going to absolutely destroy her.

No mercy.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"You cheated."

"I would _never_ ," Allen said, looking offended. "A gentleman would never cheat at a game of cards. It's just not polite."

"You _cheated_ ," Ash repeated more firmly, her eyes narrowed and focused solely on him. He fought the urge to grin. "I don't know how, but I will find out and prove it."

"Prove what, exactly? That you're a terrible card player and student?"

"Have you ever had any other students that you've taught?"

"No. You're the first, and the absolute worst. Worse than I was when I first started. And you lost in a magnificently terrible manner, I might add." He gave her a cheeky smile and wink for good measure. The way her face turned red was absolutely hilarious.

"You think you're funny. I'll remember that next time a pack of Compies is munching on your ass."

"You're just a sore loser," he remarked offhandedly as he carefully shuffled the deck in his hands, and in the process, replaced all the cards he had hidden in his sleeves. The perfect shuffle. She didn't even notice. She was too busy glaring at his face. It was perhaps the first time he got one up on the otherwise very astute werewolf.

Gotta live for the small victories from time to time.

He smiled sweetly and stopped shuffling once all the cards were replaced. "Would you care for another round?"

"Bring it on."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Oh come on, how did you get all the avenues?"

"Doesn't matter, pay up or I'm tossing your ass in jail. Oh, and you'll owe me…oh, what's Park Avenue worth…"

This woman was destroying him. At some parochial game called 'Monopoly.' She had somehow managed to acquire almost all the railroads, avenues, and was in the shrewd process of maintaining all the money as the acting 'bank'. And he was hemorrhaging all his money he had managed to obtain and was being forced to pay out to properties he landed on that she had bought out. And every damned time, when he rolled the dice and silently prayed, please not to put him any of her properties, it would do just that. After that, he'd then have to pay out money to her. At first, it wasn't bad. Now he hated this game with an intense passion.

Somehow, he has managed to get some amount of debt heaped upon him, and it was still climbing.

He thought he was great at budgeting money. In fact, he was, considering the insurmountable debt he owed due to Cross's travels and him bundling the bills in Allen's name. He had to be, or he'd have more people gunning for him more actively than they were. But Ash probably hasn't seen money in years, and yet—she was dominating. Did she play this game with a demonic streak like he did with cards? How did anyone even dominate at a game that had no ending?

He'll probably never know.

At least it was fake money, and not real. And it was based on a game, not because of a certain gun-toting redheaded mentor that has left him with so much debt in the past. The small comfort he had on that? Most of everyone his master had owed money to, they were most likely dead now, and the debts were gone and moot now.

He hoped.

Allen glowered at the colourful game board before him and more importantly, at the smug werewolf across from him. He was beginning to hate her sly grin and pleased stare, all the while as she silently preened herself in congratulatory victory. Every card from the middle pile on the board was against him too, and it didn't help his souring mood.

"This is payback for the card game the other week, isn't it?" He finally inquired.

"Whatever made you think that?"

She smiled ever so sweetly at him as they continued playing.

Allen was convinced, after the game concluded rather unceremoniously when finally just he got up and walked away with her laughing at his retreating backside, that she was secretly some kind of demon at board games.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Himiko was back.

She let her presence be known with a spectacular hurricane that lasted nearly two weeks. It wasn't snow, though, so Allen was partially grateful on that end. Ash would always be the one to go out, proclaiming that letting him out into the storm would be akin to suicide.

"The winds would blow you all over the place and knock you off a cliff. We both know I can survive a fall, and you might, by a marginal percent. But if you shattered something, that's it. Game over, man, you're done; even if I got to you in time. I can't risk that. Don't force me to risk that."

During one of her hunts, she came back with four soaked-to-the-bone strangers—their plane had crashed, they explained, and they were lucky enough to wash up on shore. They had run-ins with the Solarii and just barely made it further in before Báthory found them. Ash had been close enough to prevent any mistaken shootings and brought them back with a huge guardian in tow.

"Goddamn, and here I thought I'd seen it all, this place shows up and what do you know, it's got goddamn dinosaurs running amok, all over the place!" The oldest of the group proclaimed as they finished their tale.

Ash lingered near the doorway as the others meandered closer toward the warmth of the fire. Allen caught sight of her standing off to the side, looking about as soaked and miserable as the others. He noticed her hands were balled up into fists at her side, and clenched so tightly, they were bone-white. Stranger still, she looked pale and tense, ready to leap into action at any moment.

The others were too busy conversing excitedly, their eyes alit with a fevered expression, to notice anything was amiss. He heard on more than one occasion, "Yamatai! This is the lost kingdom of Yamatai!"

It was uttered with such reverence; one could almost believe they thought they'd stumbled onto a goldmine. Perhaps in their minds, they had. The four were babbling away to one another excitedly, casting occasional glances his and Ash's way. She, in turn, was keeping her distance, watching.

Allen turned back to the werewolf, venturing closer to her as he did.

"Ash?"

He reached for her, but hesitated at the last moment and nearly retreated. She surprised him by snaking her hand out to reach his hand halfway, gripping it tightly. He winced but let her hold on.

He leaned a little closer to her and asked in a soft voice, "Is everything all right?"

"My tolerance for people is limited to one person at a time, and this is overflowing that capacity right now. Too many people."

He mulled over that statement for a moment. It wasn't anger in her voice he sensed. It was anxiety. She was tense all over. Allen squeezed her hand back. "They'll be gone soon. We just have to wait out the storm."

She nodded, although if she heard him, he couldn't really say. Her eyes were focused on the four not unlike a raptor honing in on something foreign and unknown in their territory.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Barely a week passed by after the arrival of their new guests, the destruction of the Sun Queen and the general state of the island returned to a vague sense of normalcy after they left.

If one could call it that.

It was only in the aftermath of it all, and things were settling back down, that Allen noticed that it was well past the New Year.

A bit of surrealism settled in as he stared at the date, having flipped back to Báthory's gaping maw and beady eyes honing in on the view.

 _I'm eighteen,_ he thought absently, not quite believing it. He'd been on Yamatai for over two years now.

Somehow, it felt longer.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	13. Chapter Thirteen: For Better or Worse

**Chapter Thirteen:  
For Better Or Worse**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _I struggled for a long time with survivin'. And you—no matter what…you keep finding something to fight for."_ **  
-Joel, "** _ **The Last of Us**_ **"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

His world was on fire.

Not in a literal sense, but it might as well have been.

Splinters of glass shards seemed to have found a home in his leg, his throat and nose were burning from salt water, and oh right, he had apparently been "dead" for about a full minute. His lungs felt like tiny little nails were carving their way through, inside out and making attempts to worm around every nook and cranny of his chest. Every breath was a struggle, but every breath was also coming easier than the last.

Now he was being dragged through the rocks, mud, and sand. He barely comprehended Ash telling him that his leg was broken when she had told him (well, she yelled it in his ear above the howl of the wind, really). It wasn't until she had no choice but to drag him a few feet when he wasn't responding that it settled in and pretty damned fast, too. His entire leg was on fire those few measly feet she pulled on him so effortlessly, but it was enough to jumpstart his groggy senses and motivate him to get up on his good leg.

When he stumbled out of her grip and landed on his side, his head knocked into the ground and vaguely, he recalled bits and pieces of how this had all happened.

He and Ash had been ambushed by the Oni. They could be about as silent as the raptors when the wanted to be. Sometimes, even Ash admitted she had trouble tracking them. A rainfall of arrows had come down on them, and then the Big Guy (as Ash had coined him as) came into play after the rest of the foot soldiers had them backed against one of the cliffs overlooking the sea. Allen had dove right into the fray, wielding his Sword of Exorcism against the Big Guy's giant extended mace-like weapon.

Ash had shouted something at him, but what it was, he couldn't recall. She was busy holding back the Oni reinforcements, fighting them off, distracted between that and him, and then…

And that's where it began to grow fuzzy. He remembered falling and something roaring in his face, and then it was cold, so cold, and it was wet. Something had been trying to drag him down, down, down…down into the darkness and the crushing cold. He wasn't in control. He was being swept away, pulled down, thrown hither and thither and he couldn't _breathe_.

The next thing he knew, Ash was there. It was raining and she was hovering over him, the water rolling off her hair, her face, making her clothes stick to her body. She had been angry, shouting at him, yelling something important although what it was, he couldn't recollect. He had tried to stand, and found he couldn't. Something was wrong, he knew it the moment he tried shifting his weight and get his legs underneath him, and his left arm—

It was gone. He had had it in its sword form, but it was gone now.

"We've got to go!" Ash had shouted at him.

"My arm—"

"We've got to _go_ , they're coming!"

It was a blur after that, of him trying to get his one good leg to cooperate and failing; Ash practically carrying him as they made their flight from the beaches and cliffs; glimpses of the Oni following them; rushing through the forest until Ash had jammed them into a tiny cubby hole that couldn't even call itself a cave. It was a relief to be out of the lashing rain, but he was still so cold.

There was a sudden bloom of heat behind him, right where Ash was and—wait. It _was_ Ash. She was the source. That's right. She was always hot like this, wasn't she? He just grew so used to it, he failed to notice half the time.

Sitting still made him remember the pain in his leg and the longer they remained, the more it began to ache in anguish.

"M-my leg—what's wrong with it?" He asked in a hoarse whisper, fighting back the urge to cough.

"You fell off the cliff with the Big Guy. You broke it on a rock under the water." He could hear the scowl in her voice, and already imagined a frown on her face, even if he couldn't see because it was so dark. But there was hesitation there as well. "You drowned, Allen. The Big Guy had a hold of you and if I hadn't gone in after you, you'd be at the bottom of the sea right now. Your heart stopped for almost a minute."

Somehow…somehow that didn't quite faze him as badly as he thought it should. He's had that happen before, hadn't he? Tyki Mikk…he once had had a Teaze eat a hole in his heart. His Innocence had fixed it, though.

Outside, there were muffled shouts in Japanese, gruff orders to…

God, he was rusty. He didn't understand a word of Japanese anymore. Not that he had the barest idea back then, either. He just knew scarcely enough to get him by.

"My arm—" he tried again, only for Ash to shush him. He was leaning up against her and the heat that radiated from her was strangely soothing. She had her arms wrapped around his chest and her legs sprawled on either side of him, keeping him pinned. He fumbled in the dark to touch at his left shoulder, where his arm should be, but it wasn't there, it just _wasn't_. Footsteps pounded somewhere outside, coming closer until they stopped, paused, retreated.

Ash breathed a quiet sigh of relief before she began moving, carefully wriggling out from behind him. She helped prop him up against the wall she had been against.

"You turned your arm into a big fucking sword. The Big Guy charged, you charged back and…the next thing I saw, you two were going over the edge. I dove in after you, but I didn't see where it went." She spoke in a hushed voice, and he heard a zipper yank along its track, followed by ruffling about. Ash's pack. She was looking for supplies. He listened for a moment. She was on his left side, by his broken leg.

"Can we get some light?"

"No. The Oni are still in the area." She replied in a hushed voice. His heart gave a painful jolt the same instant Ash began handling his injured leg. He had to bite back a cry of pain. Her hand slapped against his mouth and he could feel the tips of her claws against his cheek. "I know it hurts, but please, try keep it down."

She slowly removed her hand without waiting for a response and returned to his leg. She was gentler this time, but it still hurt. She grabbed at his pant leg and tugged and he heard the fabric of his jeans rip. He started at the noise, his heart leaping to his throat.

"What're you doing?!"

"I need to see how bad the damage is; what kind of break you have. If it's an actual fracture, I need to set it."

"Do you _have_ to rip my pants to do it?" He hissed back and even in his muddled state, he had enough clarity in him to blush.

"I can't roll it up, it'll hurt you too much and I'm doubtful you'll be willing to take off your pants. This is the best option. And besides, I'll fix them later."

He forgot that she could sew. Whether it was some innate skill she knew before Yamatai or had to learn out of necessity, either way, she was good after a few centuries' worth of practice. He groaned all the same.

"All right, just…be careful. Please."

"Aren't I always?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"I see your humour's still intact, that must mean you're feeling fine," she muttered more to herself than to him. A faint smile touched his lips nonetheless. He winced at the noise of his jeans tearing again and the jerking motions that rocked his leg. The cool air combatted with Ash's natural heat and it made him shiver.

"Crap."

"What is it?"

"I see bone, and…Christ, you're bleeding. A lot. Shit, shit, shit—"

Fingers jabbed at his throat and Allen flinched back away, shocked.

"What're you doing?!"

"Checking your pulse. Are you feeling light-headed, woozy, dizzy?"

"Uh…now…that you mention it…kind of."

The fingers were gentler the second time around, probing at a spot along his neck. She was quiet as she checked his pulse. After almost thirty seconds, she removed her fingers and cursed several times over.

"Shit. Shit, fuck, fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck…"

Hands began pulling at his hoodie and shirt and he fumbled right back to push them away. This would be easier to do with two hands instead of one…

"You might have internal bleeding—tears in veins where there shouldn't be, your main artery in your leg even—I'm not trying to cop a feel here, Allen, let me see!"

He froze at that and she took advantage of his lack of response. She jerked up his shirt and he shivered at the heat of her hands pressing against his skin. It was actually very soothing, despite the roughness on the pads of her fingers and hand, and it alleviated some tension and ache wherever her fingers glided. He didn't know if she was intentionally flushing heat into him or if she could do that or not, but it felt good all the same. He hissed in pain here and there, however, the feel-good sensation disappearing the instant she prodded at something painful in his ribs.

"You've got some mild bruising here and here, but it's not getting any darker to suggest internal bleeding—that means you've might have something nicked in your leg. Christ, I hope it ain't your femoral…"

He blinked slowly, her voice fading in and out of focus as she whispered—babbled, was really the word—away. He had a suspicion she was talking more to herself than she was to him at this point, and that was just fine. He was feeling just a little sick and he blamed that on being dragged out of the sea like a fish on a line. What had she said earlier?

He had drowned.

"You saved me," he said. Or he tried to say it, at least. A palm pressed against his forehead and he groaned. "That feels nice."

"I've got to set your leg now. I need you to not scream. Can you do that? I know it's gonna hurt, a lot, but if I don't, you're gonna have an even worse day than you're already having."

He nodded. Or he thought he did. He might have even hummed an affirmative to her. He was more concerned with letting himself relax. The pain was still there, just barely keeping him aware of what was happening around him, but it was starting to fade. That was good. That was good, right?

He was promptly ripped from his dozing at the earth-shattering agony that arose in his leg all anew. He began to scream, but Ash pounced on him, holding his mouth shut in that vice-like grip of hers. Despite her smaller stature, she was several times stronger than he was, and she was heavier than she looked. He kicked his good leg, breathing rapidly through his nose, while his heart was tap-dancing away in his chest at a rapid fire pace. Pain lanced up and down his left leg, and bled out into his hips and spine and up his back. It just kept going, and going, and going until it began to slowly fade away.

Ash gently pried her hand away only when his breathing slowed and he stopped struggling.

"I need to find out where you're bleeding from," she said quietly, her tone bordering apologetic. "So I need you to be very quiet and don't freak out right now, okay?"

"What're you doing?"

Something light fell against his abdomen and he reached up, gingerly tapping his fingers in the air until he brushed against something solid. He felt hair and he quickly retracted his hand. Ash's head was right up against him. He could already feel his face flushing red-hot.

"I'm listening to anything that might register as abnormal, like a bleed that shouldn't be there; now hush, please."

He fell silent more out of bemusement than understanding. Slowly, she moved down the length of his body. Outside their hole—he refused to call it a cave; it was barely that—the rain continued pouring down, and the wind howled. There was no sound left of the Oni's voices. He hoped that they had moved on and weren't just casing the area.

Ash moved down by his hip, paused, then down the length of his thigh, past his knee, and then stopped altogether by his leg.

"Leg. It's definitely in your leg. It's not your femoral, but you're still losing a good amount of blood. No internal bleeding, either, though, so that's another plus."

She sounded relieved. Or about as relieved as she could get.

"You can hear all that?" He couldn't contain the awe in his voice.

"Good ears, am I right?" Ash replied, and Allen could just imagine the smirk she was sporting.

"Incredible," he agreed. She was on par with Noise Marie. How amazing a feat it was to simply _listen_ for a bleed in someone's body, instead of poking and prodding and guessing.

"I'm going to give you a blood transfusion now. I need your arm."

"Blood transfusion?" He took a moment to soak that in.

"I'm O-negative; it means I'm a universal donor," she replied. More rummaging sounds came from his left. "I'll splint your leg, try to staunch the bleeding, but there'll be no point if you bleed out on me. Where's that tubing—here it is. This is gonna pinch a little, I'm going to put a needle in your arm."

The thought of a needle in his arm made him nauseous. Or was he feeling like that even before any mentions of needles whatsoever? Either way, he wanted to puke. He barely noticed when he began listing to the side.

"Hey. Hey! Christ on a fucking crutch—Allen, you need to stay awake. _Allen_!"

There was a hint of panic and urgency in her voice. He barely felt her crawling over him to get to his other arm or the bite of the needle in his flesh. Sound was starting to wash away and it was already dark, he couldn't see all that well. He doubted he'd see much at this point, though.

He just wanted to sleep.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen could hear a voice. It was about as annoying as the buzz of a fly and he wanted it to go away and leave him be. He wanted to sleep. The voice continued to sift through the fuzziness of his mind, however. It was persistent and unrelenting in its pursuit to keep him awake. How rude.

He gave up on trying to ignore it after a while, and instead focused on what it was trying to tell him. He was only just barely aware of a pain located somewhere on his body, but it came and went like a bothersome throbbing; noticeable but easy to disregard. He was more concerned on what was so damned important that he couldn't be left alone in peace.

At first, the words were garbled, unclear. He struggled to listen, and found that he less he understood, the more he wanted to know what was being said. Maybe it really was something important.

What if it was another mission? Another Exorcist who needed help or had been discovered, or perhaps another Innocence has been located…

"—wake up—now, I _mean_ it—"

But he was already awake, wasn't he? He was trying to listen!

"—I swear to your piece-of-shit god, if you don't wake your ass up—"

That was fairly rude. What has God done that He was in need of being verbally accosted alongside Allen?

"—Allen Walker, if you made me save your ass from that stupid body of salt water just to die from a broken leg and stupid-as-fuck random leg bleed, I'll beat your corpse and throw you back in for the fish to eat! Wake the fuck up!"

The muffled filter, like cotton in the ears, suddenly lifted. The aches and pains he could barely notice were strangely muted still, but still reasonably noticeable. Something about a broken leg, like the voice had said. The voice was speaking again, and it was easier now to notice that it was a woman, talking to him. Her voice was cracking, on the verge of absolute anger and desperate urgency, with a hint of melancholy.

"That's it, buddy, stay with me. Stay awake a little longer, okay? Don't pass out just yet."

"What…?"

Things began to fade and he swore it was only for a few moments. Some form of clarity returned and…had he always been leaning up against something, or had he been lying down? And what was that sound, just beneath the noise of the heavy rainfall?

Allen focused on the sound and it was so familiar, he just couldn't put his tongue on it. It was a rhythmic beat he's heard before….

"Just make it through the night, okay? Christ, when you went…went over that cliff, I thought…" The 'something' he was leaning against shuddered. Something alive. Another person? The source of the voice, perhaps. "I told you… _I told_ _you_ , leave the Big Guy to me. You should _always_ leave that big bastard to me, I know how to take him down, I told you…"

Something was wrapped around his chest and it gave him a squeeze. He would have reached up to grab or pat or do something in return, but he felt heavy in his own body. So he listened instead.

"When you first got here, you were a pain in the ass because I couldn't figure out your game. I still can't, and you're still a pain in the ass, but you're a pain in _my_ ass. And you're the only person on this stupid fucked up island I actually give a shit about, so you're not allowed to die, you're not…you can't die of a stupid fucking broken leg! I fucking forbid it! Denied! Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars!"

Oh, that was nice. Someone cared about him. Absently, he began to grasp who it was that was talking. She was familiar. A bit rough around the edges, gruff at times, but she was nice enough. What was her name again?

"Stupid—I should have jumped in. This is my fault…"

He wanted to protest, if only to alleviate her concerns. He was the one who had gotten his leg broken, didn't he? Something about a fight and someone called a 'Big Guy'. It was his fault, not hers.

Faintly, he could feel something along his arm and down to his hand, squeezing it, and something else was pressing against the top of his head. Behind him, the warm body was shaking. He drifted off at that point, unable to cling to consciousness any longer.

He just wished whoever it was that was holding him would stop crying over his sake.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen woke up.

He wished he hadn't.

Everything hurt.

He sat there for a long time, soaking up in the quiet peacefulness around him. Details began filtering in. He wasn't back at the homestead, sleeping in his own bed. He was somewhere chilly and damp, but at his backside, there was something warm and comforting.

More came sifting through to his senses and his bliss slowly began breaking apart into pieces.

The Oni, the cliff, falling into the sea, Ash dragging him out of the water and reviving him, Ash getting them to safety and setting his leg…

The world was grey around him. Grey light, grey shadows, grey everything. But there was just enough of it all that he could see through. He was leaning up against something, but he wasn't quite sitting up. The 'warm something' behind him took in a long, sleepy breath and he stiffened.

The details of the contours of what he was leaning against began to sink in. The heat exuding from the spot behind him was easy enough to identify as to 'whom' and not 'what' he was leaning up against. Although 'lean' was perhaps a mite strong. More like 'laying on'. He tried sitting up, but stopped when he nearly tumbled over on his face. His left arm.

Right.

He'd lost it.

How does one lose a big sword that doubled as their arm?

Apparently he, Allen Walker, an Exorcist of the Black Order, managed to accomplish such a feat.

Wonderful.

To make matters worse, it was most likely at the bottom of the sea right now. He groaned. Now they'd have to hike back to the beach or the cliffs, just so he could get within range to recall it. Doing it from here, deep in the forest, it probably wouldn't work and it was also probably not a good idea, either.

He began to lift his right arm to compensate, but froze when something tugged in his arm. He squinted in the semi-darkness, and saw something was _in his arm_. The panic settled almost as soon as it came. Medical equipment. It was the medical apparatus that Ash had used on him. What was it for again? He groped about in his tired skull, trying to remember, all the while staring blankly at it. That was when he noticed the second arm beside his, splayed out like his was, with the same tubing connected to it. It was an IV tube.

Blood transfusion.

It clicked the instant he put two and two together.

Allen stared at the tubing for a moment longer, his gaze drifting to the thinner, leaner arm that belonged to Ash. He's rarely seen her bare arms without the bracers with the hidden blades on. Now he had a better view of the scars that encircled her wrist. Burn scars.

He didn't know she could suffer from burning. He always thought she was fireproof…

He distracted himself with glancing at his leg. It was stiff and it ached something fierce, but it was heavily bandaged up and splinted. Long pieces of wood kept it pinned in a straight line. His jeans had suffered horribly after being ripped up, but they could be repaired. His leg was the more important factor here. Allen closed his eyes with a soft groan. This was absolutely terrific. He had lost his arm, broken his leg, he had nearly bled out, he certainly drowned and had to be revived, and he was practically immobile. Oh, and the bruises that would last for days. Can't forget about those.

The hand beside him twitched and he froze in time just as it slunk away from where it had previously lain.

"Oh, good. You're awake. Now we can move out. The Oni are gone." Ash's voice sounded just above his head. He craned his head to look up at her, although in the grey shadows, he could barely make out her features.

"Have…have you been awake this whole time?"

"One of us had to be. You weren't exactly volunteering for a night watch, so I took your shift."

"What happened? I can't really recall all the details…"

She sighed. "We got ambushed by the Oni. You took on the Big Guy, even though I specifically told you _not_ to. You…did something, I'm not sure what, my back was turned, but it sent you both over the cliffs. When you hit the water, your leg smashed into a rock underneath and the Big Guy was trying to drag both of you down. I dove in after you, and…got you to shore, dragged you into the forest, fixed you up."

"That…sounds roughly about right."

"You nearly bled out, but…I transferred you some blood overnight. You should be good now, though. Here."

She shifted behind him, to dislodge the needle in her arm first, then moved to his. He winced and she softly apologized.

"I'll see if I can clean and disinfect this stuff. We can't afford to throw it out."

Allen barely heard her speak. Instead, he tried recalling all the details she was most likely skimming over. He wracked around in his head, but all he could recall was her talking to him, albeit it all sounded garbled and…

"You were crying," he said absently.

Ash, to her credit, didn't stop in her motions: rolling up the tubing, carefully tucking the needles away, storing it back into her pack with the rest of their supplies. She didn't miss a beat.

"I could barely keep you awake while I finished things up. You were mumbling something and moaning a lot. You weren't having a sex dream, were you?"

He choked on his next words, his face turning red. "Do you always have to be so crass and vulgar?"

"Hey, it's fine if you were, you're a—well, not so-healthy right now, broken leg and all—but you're still a young man. I personally didn't care, so long as you were kind of awake. I'm not gonna judge, just keep it between you and yourself from now on." She snickered softly. "I know I'm the only woman here, but I'd rather not be counted as an option for…whatever. Unless you were thinking of a guy. Then that's cool too."

"I was not having some—some _sex_ dream!" His face was as red as a tomato, he just knew it. The last of what she said clicked moments later and he growled out belatedly, "And I prefer girls."

"Pfft. Whatever you say."

"And what about you? Do you ever, well…"

"Get with someone? Do the nasty, bump uglies, screw like bunnies? Nosy, nosy thing you are."

He made another disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. She snorted in return.

"No. No, I don't. Told you before…my tolerance is filled to capacity for one person at a time, and you seem to have taken that slot for the foreseeable future. I also have no interest in starting anything with anyone, either. Ever. Ain't nobody got time for that."

Despite what she said, Allen didn't quite believe all of it. The way she had said it, it just sounded…hollow, like she was just saying _something_ to fulfill the need for an answer. He wouldn't normally have seen that, if he hadn't grown so used to her usually reserved quietness. This was just…noise. Plain and simple.

"I don't exactly buy that."

"You really are fucking nosy, trying to pry in my non-existent sex life."

Oh. Right. She had a point. He cleared his throat, trying to buy time to think of something else to say that would divert from this topic. Anything. Anything at all. He didn't get a chance to change the subject.

"The truth is…ain't nobody ever gonna want to get down and dirty or even vaguely romantic with some… _thing_ like me. Granted, I kick everyone off the island, but still. It's not that I'd let them try anything, either. All they'll ever see regardless, is that I am just the filthy _monster_ that luckily enough doesn't kill them, gives them some food and water, protects them from the psychopaths, puts them on a boat, and sends them on their way. That's it. That's the extent of contact and honestly…I'd rather keep it that way. Besides, long distance relationships are sketchy."

She laughed softly, as though it was completely hilarious in hindsight. Allen didn't laugh, even when she lightly smacked his shoulder. Just as he didn't get a chance to change subjects, he didn't get a chance to respond. He kept it down too long, and while Ash quickly disengaged herself from being his living heater to tidy up, he mulled over her stinging words.

Why did she believe herself to be any less of a person, just because she wasn't human?

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The beach was completely unchanged from where they stood. A storm had torn through it once more, taking away any evidence of a scuffle or escape. Planks of driftwood washed ashore, along with clumps of seaweed here and there. Crabs scuttled along the wet sand and pale gulls circled above hungrily, calling to one another.

Allen leaned on the makeshift crutch Ash had scavenged for him on their way down. He stood corrected from his earlier assessment of his injuries: _now_ everything hurt and he wished he hadn't woken up. When he asked if he could have any medicine, Ash had refused.

"Not while we're still vulnerable to attack," she'd said. "I need your wits, even if you can't actively fight. You might see something I don't or maybe see something I missed. Rare, but it happens. If you're drugged up, well…we lose advantage of two working pairs of eyes instead of one."

She quickly added when he visibly wilted that she'd give him medicine when they were back at home.

Home.

He never thought he'd have to call a cave a home before. How times have changed in the last three years.

The thought made him anxious to get back and as soon as possible.

Ash stood close by, hovering really, as though expecting him to collapse at any moment. She was agitated and tense. Her tail kept twitching in short, quick arcs behind her, further belying her anxious state. Did she really think he was _that_ fragile? In comparison to her, he probably seemed like it, but still!

He wasn't so delicate that he would break so _easily_.

He straightened himself up, if only to alleviate her concerns, focusing more on the sea beyond. He could feel the faint yet familiar connection between him and his Innocence. It was still out there, deep in the cold waters. He dug deeper, reaching out for it. It resisted at first, stuck as it was. Perhaps it was the currents that had buried it underneath silt and sand and rock, or it had drifted to deeper waters. Either way, he finally managed to triumph, calling for it to return.

The closer it came, the stronger the pull. He grinned when the waves beyond rippled seconds before the sword came bursting out of the waves. It came barreling toward them—to him—like a boomerang. Ash stood her ground, even as it came closer. Only at the last moment, did she scuffle back a few feet. He remained adamant, even when it looked like it was going to cut him down. He raised his right arm up just in time to catch the hilt. The familiar tingle of the blade in his hand was refreshing and he laughed in relief.

His laughter turned into a strangled yelp when he leaned a little too much to the left to compensate. Pain screamed its way up his broken leg and he toppled over with a shout.

"Ow, ow, ow…!"

Right onto his back he went tumbling over, right onto the wet sand with the tide rushing up to greet him. Ash was right there, pulling him away, but he didn't let go of his Innocence.

"You fucking idiot," Ash grumbled at him, yet there was no hint of actual malice in her voice. Amusement, maybe. He alternated between a laugh and another yelp of pain. When she stopped, he quickly assimilated his sword back and within seconds, he was curling the fingers of his left hand, flexing them. Ash appeared in his vision, leaning over him with a charmed expression painting her face.

"Gotta admit," she said, her mismatched gaze sliding toward his red-stained left hand, intrigue alighting in her eyes. "That was actually pretty damn cool."

He beamed back, in spite of the new aches and glass-shard-pains in his leg renewing themselves. He had his arm back and at the very least, he was breathing.

"Thank you," he breathed out at last, closing his eyes in relief. He was still sore all over and his leg hurt like no tomorrow-but he was alive and well. His arm was back. And Ash seemed rather impressed, genuinely so.

"Anytime," she said back. And it actually sounded genuine and warm and sincere. This, coming from a woman who barely had a care with what he did with himself almost three years prior. She offered him his crutch, and a helping hand. He grasped it with his left one and she squeezed it tight, unperturbed, as she helped haul him to his feet. Ash grinned at him. "Now let's get home."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Crawl

**Chapter Fourteen:  
Crawl**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _When you can't run, you crawl. And when you can't crawl, when you can't do that…"  
"…you find someone to carry you."_ **  
-Tracey and Zoe, "Firefly"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The first time he saw her in her fur, she froze in place, her wide eyes locked onto his. They were both a hot, molten gold with wildfire dancing in them. There was no trace of the witty blue-grey in her right that he had grown accustomed to. The way her wolfish face had dropped away of any emotion at all would have been comical, if there wasn't such a sudden stink of fear in the air. The tension was electric, and he was afraid the wrong move might set her off. He could scarcely breathe.

The full moon was riding high above them, shafts of silver light lancing through the tree canopies, alighting her up. Ash was about as thin in her upright, two-legged wolf-woman form as she was in the body he was used to seeing; all lean and hard, corded muscle. Only this time, she was covered in fur; dark russet brown, it almost appeared black in the darkness, but the tips of feathery-soft fur along her head, her ears, her tail—they were all darkened red, like blood. And then there were the scars. She was covered, even he could make out the thick pale traces along her abdomen, her limbs, and her backside; they peeked out beneath the dark fur like pale crescents.

She was a creature that really had stepped out of a storybook, living and breathing right in front of him. Right from her little leather notebook with all the other monsters, except she was tangible, she was real. The eventual thought that he had just stumbled upon a veritable creature of lore that, by definition, killed and ate people, finally hit him. The realization hit him suddenly at that moment in hindsight.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! She's warned him off before, told him off plenty of times. Whether it was by a subtle statement or an outright growling threat, she always told him to never follow her, or leave the homestead on the night of the full moon.

She had even taken the liberty of deducing when they would be and marked them on his calendar.

Really, she was that efficient.

 _Then why in the hell did I follow her tonight?_

Oh, yes, that was right… _curiosity_. That was what had driven him to believe it was a great, an absolutely wonderfully _terrific_ idea to follow a werewolf out into the cover of the night.

Which brought him back to the present.

Neither of them had proven capable of moving, not just yet. She was as still as a statue, the same as him. He was almost sure that she had stopped breathing and was simply holding it. How long could she do that for, again?

Something far off in the distance, another part of Yamatai, shrieked. It shattered the stillness and the spell that held them both mesmerized and unwilling to break their staring contest. She moved first and she was unbelievably fast. One moment she was there, the next she was simply gone. There wasn't even a trace of where she had gone, what direction she took. Not a snapped twig, nor the rustle of leaves and foliage swaying in her wake.

Allen was just thanking his lucky stars that she seemed completely uninterested in eating him, before berating himself for even thinking that.

She's told him before that she doesn't eat humans. He was perfectly safe, but then again…why would she warn him away if that were true?

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

She didn't return the next morning, like she normally did. The raptors were gone as well, having fled into the night prior. Most likely, they hunted together.

The hours ticked by and by the afternoon, it felt like millennia had passed him by. Apprehension struck him out of the blue in those late hours and after he nearly took apart the entire cave to find the one item he wanted, he found it.

It was the leather journal Ash had shown him, over three years ago. It detailed the monsters that had come to Yamatai, the ones that were still around. Each entry had their own sketches, scribbles, drawings, basic information. He flipped through pages until he landed on the one marked 'Werewolf' in Ash's messily scrawled handwriting.

There was a charcoal drawing of a standard werewolf, one that was similar in build to Ash's from last night: lean but muscled, covered in thick fur all over the body, upright on the hind legs, dexterous front paws that resembled hands with vicious talons, a bushy tail, wolfish snarling face…

This one, however, didn't have scars. It was a rather generic body scale; simple, sweet, to the point. General information was listed on the page over; he glossed over most of it, but stopped at the boldly listed 'Weakness' section written in her writing:

 _Silver, wolfsbane, fire (except for moi, because pyrokinesis; suck it world!)_

So _that_ was what she had. Interesting.

He barely remembered it the first time he went through this book; although, in all fairness, he had been rather skeptical on her claims in the beginning. He had scarcely taken it at face value at the time. Allen skimmed through the following two pages detailing further breakdown on information connected to werewolves.

He reread it all twice before closing the book. When he stepped outside, the sky was bruised and dark with the oncoming of night. The wind skittered noisily past him, tugging at his clothing and hair. He spat it out of the way, noting that he'd need to bind it back to keep out of his face. Allen wandered past the entrance to the homestead, finding a better view to look over the eastern face of Yamatai. Already, ribbons of darkness were snaking their way across the sky, while in the west, the sun was bleeding out into the ocean and setting it afire. He turned on his heel, intent on grabbing his bag, bow, and a walkie-talkie. He wasn't going to idly sit by and wait.

He'd done enough waiting as it was, and he already felt cooped up for the last several months, waiting for his leg to heal.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He ran into one of the raptors scouting the pine forests. It was Sol, one of the lighter-coloured raptors. He was almost a touch or two away from being described as 'golden feathered'. When Sol spotted him, the Dakotaraptor went stiff as a board, rapidly inhaling Allen's scent as he approached slowly, hand extended. Sol sniffed the offered limb, eventually rubbing his snout against Allen's palm in way of acceptance.

"We need to find Ash," he said to Sol, while signing it at the same time. Sol purred quizzically, head tilting to the side as the raptor soaked in the message. The raptor snorted only after a few moments of consideration, turned and cough-barked at Allen to follow.

The moon was late in its rising that night, but it rose all the same and provided just enough light for him to travel by. Sol had little issues, although he picked his way carefully through the underbrush as they traversed the terrain. It took most of the night to find paths that both he and the raptor could take together, but it eventually led them both down to the southern beaches, where the old PT boat usually sat. It was gone now, taken by their last group of rescued survivors. It'd be back when the island reset, but the low-rise bunker remained its decrepit old self. Sol paused between the two buildings, purring softly as he turned to the one closest toward the water. The door was rust-red and bolted shut. He peered in through the window, but couldn't make out anything, not with the shadows obscuring everything. Sol peeped softly beside his head, snout pressed against the glass as he sniffed.

"Ash?"

He squinted, frowning as he stepped away. Sol remained where he was, his breath fogging against the glass. Allen placed a hand on the raptor's backside. Sol squealed softly, but didn't snap at him.

Ah, progress.

"Are you sure she's here?"

Sol timbered at him, snaking his head to and fro in response, then bobbed it toward the door.

Allen moved toward the door and gave it an experimental pull. It jammed for a moment. Allen tugged harder. It finally gave with loud screech of metal-on-concrete, protesting the entire way. Sol screamed back, snorting noisily, feathers all splayed out. Allen shushed the raptor, soothing the animal softly. Sol snorted, clacked his jaws at Allen and promptly meandered away without further fanfare.

Allen turned back to the inside of the bunker, peering into the dark. Ah, this was better, being able to see while inside, instead of outside-in.

Or maybe not.

Ash was there. Sol really had led him to the right place. She was curled on the floor, hiding in the shadows, leaning against the wall, not paying him any mind whatsoever.

Oh, right, and she was naked. That took Allen a very long minute to process before he cleared his throat and pointedly averted his gaze before he could make out any other details other than the glimpse he'd taken.

"Um…do you…need some clothes?"

"Why the fuck are you here?"

He winced at her tone, but didn't answer right away. He slowly swung his pack forward, offering it out to the woman sitting on the concrete floor.

"I…usually carry spares. They might not fit too well, since they're a bit baggier than yours, but…"

The pack was swiped from his hand before he finished.

"I asked why you're here," Ash repeated more firmly. She was rustling through the pack.

"You didn't come back. I was worried."

"Maybe I wanted some time away. Ever thought about that?"

"Ash, I know you're mad, and I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean to _what_ , Allen? To pretty much say ' _fuck you_ ' in the most politely British way of yours as possible by _ignoring_ what I asked of you? To completely disregard the one thing— _the one fucking thing_ —I've consistently asked of you, to _not follow me_ on full moon nights, to not try to-to actively seek me out. The one fucking thing and you just— _ignored me_."

He startled when she came stalking past him, cinched up in a pair of his spare clothes. They weren't as terribly baggy on her as he had expected, but it hid her figure completely. He scrambled to get his pack and jogged after her out of the bunker.

"I-if you're worried, that I was trying to peek at you, I didn't see anything, really—"

She whirled on him, her jaw clenched tightly as she did, both eyes glowing an eerie gold. He backpedaled a step or two.

"It has nothing to do with you 'sneaking a peek', I'm pretty damned sure of that. I was naked just then, in there, and you weren't exactly paying attention to the goods there either." She barked at him, glowering. Just as quickly as she rounded on him, exasperation grew on her face. "I didn't want you to see that fucking…that _fucking_ _face_."

She turned away from him, stalking down the concrete walkway. He stared after her, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched her go. Sol cough-barked somewhere close by, announcing his presence. Ash responded in kind. He stared after her for a moment longer before trudging along at a slower pace.

Back to square one.

Again.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Your hair's getting long."

He glanced up from the novel he had been reading. Ash was leaning on the back of the couch close beside him, head tilted, her mismatched eyes half-lidded and contemplating him.

Instinctively and without thinking, he reached up and threaded his fingers through his hair. He cringed when a particularly stubborn knot refused to come loose as he pulled free. It roughly felt like it was well past his shoulders by now.

"And a bit snarled," he added in faint annoyance. Ash reached over and gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

"I'll be right back."

She was gone for overall, a good three minutes before returning. In her hand, she had a soft-bristled brush. Ash wagged it triumphantly.

"I thought I only found one on the boat, but I was wrong." She said, plopping onto the couch beside him and presenting it over. "Here."

"I wish I knew about this sooner…"

"Sorry. My bad. Shitty memory, remember?" She offered a lazy grin. He returned it, albeit haltingly so as he took the brush. He was glad she was beginning to ease back into her usual self around him. It's been a long few weeks with her simmering anger just rippling beneath the surface lately. "I can make you some hair ties in a little while, if you'd like."

"Thank you," he said, blinking and taken aback. He allowed a pause to pass between them as he fiddled with the brush in his hands. She flashed him another quick smile, rolled up to her feet and gave a mock salute before disappearing into her bedroom. He stared after her, then slowly dropped his gaze to the brush.

A part of him wanted to believe he was off the hook now, but some things were just too good to be true. Still, he had a good feeling that he was.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"There's so many older ships crashed here."

He squinted, straining to see past the glare of the sun on the waters. White foamy waves crashed against the wooden hull of yet another ship below, roaring away.

"Do you think there's any pirate treasure down there? Maybe we should go down and check," he joked, laughing. Ash gave him a quick smile, but that was about it.

"What, like Henry Avery's big haul or something?"

"Henry Avery…why does that sound familiar?" He mused aloud. Ash sighed.

"Henry Avery was a pirate from the late sixteen-hundreds, who pulled off one of the biggest heists in history, and disappeared without a trace. Some say he died, others say he and other pirate captains founded—"

"Libertalia! I remember hearing about that!"

It has been such a long time, he realized. He could just recall Lavi once telling him about it; a mystery that not even the Bookmen knew the truth about. There were just some mysteries that haven't been successfully recorded in history, and there were many, many others he wished he could have uncovered.

Ash offered him a softer smile this time around, nodding. She returned her gaze back down below.

"I doubt any one of these belonged to any of those pirates—this is too far northeast for their tastes, especially when compared to what historians used to say, and the ships are all wrong. I also don't believe there're any trinkets to be had, not anymore. Most of the hulls split open on the rocks below the water level when they got grounded, and spilled their contents into the sea. Chances are, they got swept away and scattered along the seabed through the currents and buried under the sand, waaaaaay out there."

She motioned vaguely out to the horizon. He sighed.

"It would be nice to find some treasure," he said wistfully. Ash laughed.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold and shiny jewels."

He glanced at her after her keen remark, surprised. He smiled a bit. "I suppose that's true. Some other things are a lot more valuable than a few chunks of pretty metal and stone."

Another tired ghost of a smile trailed across her face, but it was gone before he could truly see if it was really there or not. Her focus was more aligned to the horizon, a distant look in her eyes. He followed her gaze, back to her melancholic expression, and felt his heart sink when he glanced at the horizon again.

 _Not all treasure was silver and gold and shiny jewels…_

The full meaning of her words sank in and he fell quiet, realizing why she looked so sad.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

A week. She's been gone a _whole week._

She had told him to not worry, that she was going to be scavenging supplies, but where she had to go, he couldn't follow. "I have to swim there. It means fighting against currents, finding the right way in, holding my breath for longer than a few seconds at a time."

"And how long would you expect to be underwater for?"

"Well over how long you can hold your breath, that's for certain. How long was that again? Thirty seconds, a minute at most? I can hold mine for over an hour."

When that was said, the argument pretty much died instantly, nipped in the bud and all that. "Is there anything I can do, besides sit around and do nothing here, like usual?"

He would admit, he had been peeved. He wished he had had the sense to argue against it more at the time, to pry more into where she was headed, to know just in case at the very least. Or better yet, he wished he had had the idea to ask if she was gone past a certain point, if he should have come looking.

Instead, she only told him that he could go hunting and restock the food stores, collect whatever plants they were low on, scavenge what supplies that he deemed necessary for home. He had let her go after that, watched her even, with a terrible feeling growing in his gut.

Now he was following her trail, once more using one of the raptors to help him. It was Clover this time around and she was eager to assist. The raptor led him to the southern end of the island. As they hit the trails pressing tightly to the cliffs that overlooked the sea, they were making headway further west along the coast. Clover took pause beside a hardy tree that hung over the cliffs, reaching for the ocean beyond. Below, there were more ships, wrecked upon the boulders pushed against the cliff face. Clover cough-barked, chittering as she jerked her head to and fro excitedly. Her crest feathers rose and fell in unison as she whirled on her feet, sniffing the air, tasting it. She squealed, taking off. Allen followed, only to stop just as suddenly as he started, finding Clover sticking her head into a hole in the cliff face.

"Clover, we don't have time…for this…" He began to say, but he stopped suddenly. Clover's voice was echoing. Allen listened carefully, stepping closer to lay a hand on the Dakotaraptor's flank. Clover chittered, yanking her head out and pinning him with a wide-eyed gaze. She snaked her head back toward the hole, all sounds cutting off and leaving him in silence. Clover continued to stare.

"She's…she can't be in there," Allen said, skeptical. Clover screamed at him abruptly, baring her thin, long teeth. She jutted her snout toward the hole, then looked back at him with a menacing purr. Allen raised his hands, signing that he would look. Clover snorted as she ducked her head to preen at the feathers on her arm in response.

He ducked down, peering into the hole, only to be astonished. The hole wasn't just a hole. It was an entrance to a cave. A very large one, if he could trust his eyes. Allen craned his head to look toward the raptor, who was still attentively preening her feathers.

"I'll be back. Just stay here, all right?"

Clover chittered back.

He was going to have to take that as an " _okay_ ".

Turning back to the hole, he took in a breath, braced himself, and pulled himself into the small entrance.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Inside was a lopsided maze of stony shelfs, precipices, slanted floors, natural jutting buttresses and jagged edges. Thin canyons that dropped away into darkness had him picking his way carefully over gravelly floors. Loose stones constantly knocked away beneath his boots and sent him skidding if he wasn't cautious enough. Trails leading just about everywhere in the winding cave systems presented him with a challenge.

He was stunned to come across half of a ship, crushed between two rocky walls. He moved on.

When he came upon the first shrine, he nearly lost his stomach at the sight. A woman was strung up, her corpse withered and shrunk. She had her limbs tied and splayed out, while her head lolled on her chest. Allen covered his mouth with his hand and averted his gaze, closing his eyes. Judging by the state of the corpse, the woman has been there for quite a long time and has seen little predation from anything other than time. It didn't even stink. In fact, it almost looked mummified, to an extent. He recalled what Ash had told him, and continued telling him over the course of the last several years: the Solarii crucified the women they found, sometimes burning them, using them as religious icons in order to pray to Himiko.

He's only ever seen a few of them, and most of the time, Ash was the one who handled them before they set them to rest by burning them on pyres.

The vein of caves he chose to traverse showed more signs of inhabitance. There were smaller shrines scattered throughout, but thankfully, no more corpses were strung up to be viewed. Only bowls and candles and miniature statuettes of Himiko's visage and phrases spelled on the walls greeted him.

Occasionally, he had to bulldog his way through torrents of water pools, pressing up against the current as he went. Sea water was making its way into the caves somehow, and random bits of detritus floated along inside, swept up in the current. He came across no Solarii brothers, thankfully. Their numbers really have dwindled down almost to nothing these days.

Allen shivered as he pulled himself onto a platform to get out of yet another sluggish pool of water, but paused halfway out when he saw dried flecks of blood spattered across the wood. He frowned as he followed the trail with his eyes. It looked like it was leading away from the water. He hesitated, but it lasted for all of a few lingering seconds. He hauled himself full out of the pool completely and began following the trail of blood.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Tracking was a hit or miss with him. There were times in which the trail was completely washed away. The caves were constantly damp and he was lucky most of the blood hadn't disappeared completely already. He'd have to wander around to relocate it, but eventually he was back on it. Briefly, he wondered if he was actually following the blood to a Solarii brother, or worse, one of their victims left to rot in these damp, dark caves.

Regardless, even if it was one of the Solarii brothers, he'd recognize Ash's handiwork regardless. It would mean she's been through here. But why? What supplies could she hope to gather from this underground nightmare? It was full unrecoverable detritus and junk.

The blood trail led him deeper into the caves, although it seemed like he was ascending.

The paths kept climbing higher, but the longer he followed, the more blood seemed to have been spilt. His worry grew over time and increased with every droplet turning into a spatter and every spatter turning into a puddle. There were occasional shafts of light that stabbed through cracks in the mountains, providing him with just enough to work with. It helped make things easier. Or worse, he wasn't sure at this point. He was startled to come across a boulder that sat over a large pool of blood and covered in claw marks. Thin rakes marred the stone's hide and he traced his fingers over it, glancing back at the spot where the concentration was largest.

He hurried around the boulder sitting in the path, only to come to find the path was partially caved in. The blood trail dribbled over the stones, weaving back and forth for easy handhold access that didn't require overhead grabbing. He picked his way over the collapsed boulders until he pulled himself up to the top. More cave scenery spread out before him, with high rising walls and ceilings, deep shadows and sudden drops. He caught glimpses of other sailing vessels crammed and crushed and squeezed between great pillars of giant rocks and walls of stone, somehow having made their ways into the depths of the mountains' bellies. Allen slowly found his way down, finding this side of the rockslide more treacherous than the way up on the other side. Most of the stones were slick and smoothed down from years of having water dripping on their surfaces and now they were all so loose, he feared he'd start up another rockslide.

He wound his way along a thinning trail that pressed tightly against the face of another mountainous wall. He had to shuffle slowly, but he made it to a wider expanse of walking space. He glanced back and saw the smears of dried blood against the wall he had just traversed. Allen quickly turned on his heel and continued, winding between cramped passages and tunnels. When he rounded another bend, he was greeted with the sight of yet another sailing ship torn asunder. Most of its hull had been lost, as well as the aft portion. The bowsprit had been ripped apart, and most of the masts were nothing but splintered stumps. A portion of the deck remained intact, and perhaps one level of the innards, but that was about it. The blood trail led straight toward it.

Allen hurried over, quickly scaling the myriad of holes that had sprinkled the once-pristine hide of wood. Hauling himself up, the droplets swerved toward the hole where it would have led inside the ship. Allen followed, mindful of his steps as the wood beneath him sagged and groaned in heavy protest. He made it inside, took the first two steps—and then promptly fell the rest of the way down. The entire staircase was gone.

"Oi. Keep your voice down, do you want to start another rockslide in this place?"

He snapped his head up at the familiar voice, scrambling to his feet. He squinted in the murkiness, but before his eyes could adjust, a globe of fire arose, filling the hull with a soft amber glow. Ash wasn't far from where he'd landed, details of her form coming into view. She gave a stiff wave as the floating orb flickered beside her.

"Hey."

Allen stared, taken aback. He quickly recovered and trotted over, mindful of his steps as the planks beneath him groaned softly in protest.

"What in the hell happened to you? It's been over a week!"

"What did I say about voice volume," Ash barked back in a hushed voice before sighing in resignation when he didn't balk and simply glared. Slowly, she peeled her other arm that had been wrapped gingerly around her midsection. He could see the blood staining her clothes, soaked deep into the fibers of her shirt and part of her pants as well. "Has it really been a week? I thought it was only a few days…"

Allen ignored her, kneeling to further inspect. She leaned away when he reached to pull her shirt up. Even with an arm draped across her midriff, he could see the blood spattering her hand and forearm.

"I need to see how bad it is."

"It's nothing."

"Then why haven't you come back home? This doesn't look like nothing; I've seen you heal from much worse, but you're still _hurt_. You're still _bleeding_. I had to follow a blood trail all over this place just to find you!" He felt his jaw clench and all the worry and the gut feeling that something bad really had happened has just been confirmed and it roiled away in the pit of his stomach. "What happened?"

Ash opened her mouth, as though in protest, but she clacked it shut and sighed instead, avoiding his eyes. "This is embarrassing…"

She grabbed her pack sitting beside her, and yanked it over, unzipped the top and dug her hand around inside. Something clinked, metal on metal, and she pulled her hand out. In the firelight, coins glittered. Gold, most likely. Allen's eyes widened.

"Surprise," she half-grinned. "Found these while I was scavenging."

There was a tension in her voice Allen could sense right off the bat, one that was trying to push the pain out but was failing. He stared at the coins in her hand, his mouth agape in disbelief.

"You…came all this way for _trinkets_?"

"I told you, I was coming her to scavenge some things. I just _happened_ to come across this first while doing that and—and…and you, you're not buying any of that, are you?"

"Not in a hundred years."

"Oh, so should I wait a hundred years and then ask?"

"Ash!" He pointed to her midsection. "What happened?"

She sighed and it was such a world-weary sound. He didn't miss the wince halfway through, and she knew he saw it. She draped her arm back around and didn't meet his eyes.

"Even more embarrassing," she muttered while her ears slowly pressed against her head. "One of the ships…you've seen them, some of them, they're way the hell up there, all crushed between the walls from constant shifting in this damned place. One was pretty close to…well, let's call it the 'ground' and it was close enough to jump up to. Damn near intact, too. There was still a lot of stuff inside. I swiped a few things, but I managed to grab, believe it or not, a stupid decorative silver dagger. I thought I was smelling burnt ozone, but I couldn't tell from where so I was trying to be careful in what I touched. Next thing I knew, I had picked up the damned thing and burned my fucking hand on it."

She made a show of rolling her eyes, her jaw tightening. "This place is pretty unstable. The minute I opened my mouth, I ended up starting a rockslide. Everything's topsy-turvy, and when everything settled, I found I landed on that same stupid dagger. I pulled it out, but…I think a piece got stuck in…in my side. Too small to grab, but big enough to be a pain in my ass and burn a hole in my gut."

She sucked in a breath, gritting her teeth. "Been having troubles moving around since."

"But what about your walkie-talkie—"

"No service in here," she shook her head as she dug into her pack and pulled something else out. It took Allen a few seconds to recognize the ruined remains of Ash's walkie-talkie. "I also landed on that when I fell. I don't recommend using this to cushion your fall."

"How can you be smiling about this? You're hurt!"

"I get hurt all the time." She pointed out.

"This is different!" He said, raising voice only to flinch moments later when the wood hull around them groaned. Sheepishly and more quietly, he added, "Let me see. I want to help."

Ash groaned in resignation, carefully peeling her soaked shirt up. It was a mess beneath, worse than he's seen prior before. There was a jagged gash along her left side, just beneath her ribcage. It was bloodied and raw, like it couldn't choose between whether it was burnt or if it wanted to be ripped flesh. He hissed in sympathy and flicked his gaze to meet hers, concern washing him anew. It wasn't terribly large a wound, but it still looked nasty.

"How bad does it hurt?"

"Bad enough that it hurts to move around too much or too fast. Or breathe." She sounded drained, like she was utterly exhausted. Coupled with the growing sluggishness in her words, he could tell she was struggling to stay awake now. He cursed under his breath and positioned himself beside her, one arm looping beneath the backs of her knees. _She'll pass out at this rate and won't wake up if we don't get moving._

"I'm getting you out of here."

"Allen, there's only one way outta here, and that's through the water passages. You won't make it. I probably won't either, not like this." She reached to stop him, but it was half-hearted. He shouldered her pack alongside his when she did, but he didn't pause.

"Not true," he countered. "Clover and I found a small opening along the cliffs, right along the coast. I got in through there. It's a tight squeeze, but you can manage it. You're smaller than I am."

 _If I can get there again, with her in tow._

He'd have to climb, and she couldn't, even in the right conditions. Not with the over-the-head grabs that had be done. He scooped her up, but nearly dropped her as he stood when she rattled off, "Allen, no, no, no, don't do that— _FUCK_!"

He froze when she jerked in his grip, sucking in her breath through clenched teeth, stifling a scream. She went stiff as a board, but he could feel her shaking slightly. Around them, the world trembled. He held his breath, waiting for things to settle. Ash held hers to let the pain pass her by.

"Oohhhhh, I wish you hadn't done that. Now that stupid piece is poking at something it shouldn't have."

"Shit."

"Careful. Your 'gentleman mask' is starting to slip." Ash teased between pants for breath.

"I hardly think this is the time for you to be cracking jokes."

"Eh. If I didn't, I'd be lamenting imminent death. Bit of a downer to think about."

"You're not going to die, we just—we just need to get you out of here and back home—"

"Allen, I've had a piece of silver in me for the past _week_. I'm lucky I've hung on this long…I don't think I've got much left in me to stay around any longer. By all accounts, I should be dead by now."

The painfully earnest and straight-laced way she had said all that made him bristle.

"Don't say that."

"Allen—"

"NO!"

Ash fell quiet, speechless. She stared up at him, a cross between shock and hurt mixing on her face. She was trying not to cry out, not to show any pain, not show any weakness. Even with her softening humour, she was still putting up the strong front, the mask, the seriousness. Everything she used to be when he had first met her was still somewhere in her persona, not upfront and personal like it used to be, but it was there, always lurking.

"I didn't come all this way, just to watch you die and sit idly by while it happens. I'm getting you back home, _alive_. And you—you have to promise, you can't just die on me!"

She stared at him, her mismatched eyes studying him for a long while. She didn't say anything for a long minute. The pain that had been clouding her cleared, if only for a moment as she answered him, "I don't make promises I can't keep. And you shouldn't either. You can't save everyone, and even things like me die out. That's just the way the world works."

"I'm not giving up, if that's what you're trying to aim at."

He started for the opening in which he had fallen through. The little flame Ash had going followed, fluttering its golden light. He was fleetingly reminded of Timcanpy and he sorely wished the little golem was here now. He braced himself and leapt, nimbly clearing through the hole and onto the old sailing ship's deck. He didn't have the same range as Lenalee had with her Dark Boots, but he had plenty of jump all on his own.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ash mumbled back after a moment. She sounded odd. Tired, even. "Is it…is it just me or is it…really cold in here…"

The little flame that had followed them for all of about thirty feet winked out and it threw Allen back into the half-darkness of the caves.

"Ash?" He could barely make out her features. He gave her a small shake. Her head lolled, but no response. "Hey. Ash. Ash!"

She didn't wake up. He started running.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Staying

**Chapter Fifteen:  
Staying**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _The monster in your head, won't surface again  
Be still my child, wash away the sin  
And I as future king, walk off of the edge  
Hold me by my name, hold me till the end_  
 **-"** _ **Staying**_ **" by Koda**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"How long was I out for?"

Allen glanced up from the book in his hands, although he wasn't really absorbing the words. There were simply too many swimming about on the page, and it was absolutely ridiculous how many books Ash had in this place, and—and…

Oh. She was awake! And she was looking at him, but the usual clarity that marred her eyes was gone. Instead, they were clouded heavily with fatigue and pain. It was clear she was struggling just to stay awake. Allen peeled himself away from the chair he was in, crossing the way over toward her.

"Better question," she continued, watching him as he did, "is how in the hell am I still alive."

"It's preferable to being dead, isn't it?"

"I thought it was hell at first, but then I realized that I was already in it when I was alive, so there's not much difference."

She tried to laugh but it only came out as a painful wheeze. She gritted her teeth almost immediately after and groaned, a hand flying to her side. Ash lifted her shirt just enough to prod at it with her fingertips. She craned her head to look, peeling enough of the bandages Allen had stuck there to reveal the uneven line of stitches along her side.

"Ow…ow. _Ow_. Jesus titty-fucking Christ….ow. My question still stands."

"One of your books."

"My books saved my life," she repeated flatly, her tone indicating the unspoken question of 'how'. Another chair was beside the couch and he pulled it up, sitting back down. He stooped and picked up a thick book to show it to her. She squinted at it, blinking sluggishly.

"Oh. One of the medical texts…from the boat. Huh."

"It helped some," he admitted. "Although to be fair, I'm not a doctor, far from it. I did my best and hoped I wasn't hurting you further while trying to help you."

"What exactly did you do?" Her voice dropped to a hush.

He hesitated, glancing at the front of the medical book. It had a compiled group of pictures and text on it, most of them pertaining to the medical history and anatomy of the human body.

"I had to get the silver out of you," he paused, closing his eyes as he remembered the all the damage that a tiny pinprick of silver had done to her insides. The smell of burning flesh had not been pleasant and it still made him queasy to recall. She had been right back in the cave: she was lucky to still be alive after nearly a week of exposure to silver. "It was burning everything it touched."

"That's what silver does to us werewolf folk," Ash sighed, closing her eyes. She was still so pale. She's only been awake for a few minutes, but she was already slick with sweat. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. Ash reached over and held out her hand, palm up, her eyes peeking open just enough to look at him. He saw the effort was draining, her entire arm was shaking. If one little piece of silver did this much damage to her, make even Ash tired and weak like this, he would hate to see what anything bigger than that sliver of blade tip could do to her.

"Hey. Thank you. I dunno how you did it, but…thank you."

Allen stared for only a moment, before reaching out and grasping her hand in his without missing a beat. He smiled tentatively yet warmly back at her. "You're welcome."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"I'm booooooored."

"You're not going out. Doctor's orders."

"You're a terrible doctor and you're not the Doctor."

"What?"

She, predictably, ignored his questioning look accompanied by his inquiry.

"Just a walk around the pine forest, nowhere sketchy or dangerous, I promise. C'mon."

"And set yourself back at square one after all that effort I took in keeping you alive? I don't think so, Ash."

"Ugh. You're horrible, keeping me pent up like this. Absolutely horrible." Ash made more exasperated noises and a few others that suspiciously sounded like curses thrown his way for good measure.

"Oh, however will I survive with the guilt? One step at a time, I suppose," he remarked back.

She fell silent, if only for a few minutes.

"I got a joke. So, this pirate walks into a bar with the helm of his ship on his crotch."

"This isn't one of your terrible pun jokes, is it?"

"Shut up! It's funny, just wait. So the barkeep watches the pirate come in and sees the helm and goes, 'What's with the wheel, pal?' and the pirate goes, 'Argghhh, it's driving me nuts!'" Ash dissolved into a fit of giggles. Allen snorted.

"That—that was _terrible_!"

"I got a better one, promise! So, what's a pirate's favourite letter?"

He thought on it, deciding to humour Ash just a little. "Is it 'R'?"

She grinned at him from the couch. "Nope! It be the 'C'!"

"That was even worse! Where do you get these terrible jokes?" He was still smiling nonetheless, bad jokes or not. Ash was busy alternating between laughing and holding her side in pain.

"A book in my room! Go get it! I want to read more off!"

"I think not," he snickered. "You might hurt yourself laughing and then I'd have to redo your stitches. And I warn you, I'm not that great at them. I might mess them up again."

"Awww, but it'll be worth it!"

"Not when you end up a bleeding mess on the floor."

"Buzzkill!"

He snickered and shrugged. She pouted. Actual, one-hundred-percent-genuine, _pouted_.

"You have awful bedside manner."

"Trying to keep you from falling to pieces from bad jokes should count as 'good' bedside manner."

" _Buzzkill_ ," she stated again with more emphasis. He laughed.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"No, no, no, what do you think you're doing?"

"It's not gymnastics, that's for sure. I'm not that flexible, not anymore."

This wasn't the first time Allen has caught her trying to sneak around—more like hobble, really—all over the place when he wasn't looking. It was like baby-sitting a child; she wouldn't listen worth a damn. She'd always flash him a mischievous, impish grin when he caught her. On the other hand, she'd always have a sly, smug one when he didn't but suspected she had been up and about. Ash made for an incredibly terrible patient. She hated sitting still, and being confined like she has been was probably torture to her.

She scoffed and made a show of rolling her eyes. Ash started back up a flurry of punches, sliding her pawed feet forward as she did. She kept herself low and small, swinging her hips in the same direction of her hits, like she was fighting an invisible opponent. He started forward, to try and stop her, his fingers just barely brushing her shoulder—

—only for him to end up being grabbed from over her shoulder and thrown bodily forward onto his back. The blow of it sent the air gushing from his lungs. An iron band wrapped around his chest, and something else pressed up against his throat. When the spots stopped dancing across his vision, Ash's face swam into view, a fire glittering in her eyes and her mouth parted just enough that he could make out the tips of her elongated canines and teeth bared in a snarl.

"Don't grab me like that ever again."

He swallowed thickly, eyes wide. Carefully, she lifted whatever it was that had been against his neck and he was stunned to see a knife in her hand. When had she drawn that? _Where_ did she draw it from, even?

She lifted herself up to her feet, shoving the knife into a sheath strapped to her upper thigh before holding a hand out to help him up. He eyed it suspiciously.

"You're not going to throw me again, are you?"

"Depends. You gonna try and latch onto me like you did a moment ago?"

"I was trying to stop you, you're still healing up—"

"I've been cooped up for four weeks because you won't let me leave. I've humoured you, but I'm getting better. See?" She lifted her shirt up, just enough to show her side. Her stitches had only just been removed a few days prior. The places he'd stitched up were puckered, bright pink scars but they were beginning to heal. No swelling, no pus, no infection. He doubted a scar would remain from the stitches. Only what the silver had touched would scar.

"I was cooped up for almost two months when my leg broke," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And you were a _nightmare_ , trying to crutch around even when I told you not to."

"This is revenge, isn't it?"

"Partly, yes. I'm just proving that I'm a worse patient than you are." She winked and wriggled her fingers at him, offering her hand again. "I won't throw you so long as you don't grab me like that again."

He took her offered her and she lifted him up with laughable ease like he was a ragdoll. He frowned at her.

"I barely touched you."

"You touched the wrong place," she simply said. He opened his mouth to argue, but she shushed him. "Just…just don't grab my shoulder again. Okay?"

She turned away, already settling back into her earlier position when he asked, "What's really wrong with your shoulders, Ash?"

She froze up, turned away from him, but he recognized the tension in the air. She didn't straighten up, not at first. When she did, it was slow and deliberate. Without a word, she yanked the collar of her t-shirt down covering the left shoulder, showing off a mess of scar tissue beneath. A pattern emerged and it clicked several seconds later: it was a giant bite mark. He remembered her in her fur, with the wolfish face, and the scars decorating her body. There had been many of them made by claws raking her arms, her belly, and the bites that decorated her legs, her shoulders…

The one on her left shoulder extended well past her collarbone and the other half of it encompassed the other side to her back. Its circumference was too large to be one of the raptors' but smaller than any of the other predators on the island. It didn't even look like a dinosaur bite. He's seen plenty of those, but this was almost akin to a dog's.

"What…?"

Her earlier humour had drained from her face. She watched him like a raptor, unblinking and edgy.

"It's why I can't lift my arm up past shoulder height. It's why I can't climb, or throw hits higher than I currently can. I don't like it when somebody touches me there, okay?"

"I just…I didn't really know. How did that happen?"

"How do you think I became a werewolf, Allen?"

She sighed, glancing at her hands. She wasn't wearing her bracers, and for once, he could see her forearms. She was almost always wearing them, even here at home. He could see more scars lining her left forearm—more made by claws—and both her wrists were covered in burns.

Silver burns, he now recognized them as. She'd been bound by something silver on both wrists, once upon a time.

"I don't remember the night it happened. I just…remember the pain. The pain and the fear and-and the helplessness and…and the loss of control." She shook her head, her face schooled into a hardened scowl. "It completely fucked me up, I remember _that_ just fine." Ash scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't even know why I told you, I don't like talking about it, but you just…have this _annoying_ habit of somehow dragging stuff out of me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not trying to."

"Mm-hmm," she peeked up at him from under her eyelashes, looking as unamused as she possibly could.

"I'm glad you told me, though."

She narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to continue. Suspicion lined her gaze.

"I always wondered why you would never climb. Why you couldn't reach above your shoulders. You've given me the bare minimum in the past, true, but never really why that was and…I'm glad I at least know why now. After living here for almost four years, I would hope you'd trust me enough to tell me, but…"

She didn't answer him and somehow, her silence was worse than any sharp-tongued remark she could ever make. He hoped she'd say something, but she simply let it drag on until his faint smile dropped and she looked away.

"You don't, do you?" He said, feeling his heart sink at the realization.

"Trust is something I don't dole out easily."

He stared at her in dismay.

"Do you trust _anyone_?"

Four years and she didn't trust him at all, not even a little? Even after _everything_ that's happened? After everything she's done for him and he for her in return? Not that he was keeping track, mind, but still! It was the principle of the matter.

"Allen—"

"You trust the _raptors_ more than you do me—"

"Of course I trust them more, I've been with them for decades! _Decades_! You don't have that long! You'll grow old or you'll be killed by this fucking island, while they'll just keep resetting like they always do! I've lost them more times than I care to count, and once Himiko comes back, so does everything and everyone else that hasn't become a part of this place!"

"You're just afraid, aren't you? You're afraid to trust anyone and I still don't understand _why_." He prodded more firmly. There was more to this, there _had_ to be.

"I just told you why—"

"You're scared that if you trust me, then I'll leave or-or die suddenly and then what? You'll feel it's a wasted effort?"

" _Yes_!"

She looked about as shocked as he felt and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. She dropped her gaze and wouldn't meet his for good long minute.

"You're _human_. One day I'll blink and you'll be gone and I'll…I'll still be the same. Day in and day out and then one day after that, I'll forget you, like everyone else that's come through. I'll forget when we met and everything that's happened between us. One day I'll forget about this too, what's happening between us, right now. I'll…be someone else. Again. I don't want it to, but it's going to happen. And I can't stop it. I'm more scared of that than I am of opening up to someone."

"Then why let that stop you?"

"Because I'll forget all the good things and then…then I won't have anything left to remember about you. So what's the point?" He was at a loss, and exasperated. And maybe a little scared that she knew she'd forget everything that's happened to the both of them in time. That didn't mean she had to be a coward about it, though.

"I didn't think of you as someone who gave up so easily."

"Apparently, you don't really know me, then." Ash shook her head and held up her hands, shaking them. "I…I got to get out of here. I need some air."

She turned on her heel, quickly stalking toward the exit.

"I know enough," he called after her. She kept walking. "I know you love bow hunting. You don't kill for the fun of it, but you practice, whenever you can and you love to teach it to me, whether you'll admit to that last part or not. I always hear it in your voice, even when you think you're being neutral. I know you love coffee, you talk about it all the time and how you miss it, and you love all the dinosaurs on this island, especially the raptors and the rexes. I know you love reading and you…you love working with your hands, like with drawing and whittling, and you love exploring this island, even if you already know every inch of it. You might hate that you're trapped here, but you're always finding something new, and I know you love that. For God's sakes, you went climbing into a bunch of sea caves, just to find some treasure, if not for yourself, but for me! I never asked you to, but you did it anyways!"

Ash didn't slow. She was almost to the door. His heart pounded away, anxious that he didn't seem to be getting through to her at all.

"And, and I know that you have nightmares, Ash. And that afterwards, you cry. I pretend not to notice, because…I know how much you'd hate it if I tried to come comfort or talk to you after the fact. You'd hate it if I tried, because you'd probably think I was coddling you. But I know you wake up and you're crying. And sometimes, I wish that for once, I could just help you and that you'd let me help, even if meant just sitting there and I can't…because you'd probably chase me away."

Ash reduced her pace. It encouraged him to continue. He took a few steps after her.

"I know you would do anything to save anyone who washed up on the shores of Yamatai. You'd sacrifice yourself if it meant saving just one person. You've put yourself in harm's way for my sake, on far too many occasions. You could have left me for dead or to fend for myself just as many times, and yet you pulled through and refused to let that happen. Even when there were times I should have been seriously injured or possibly even killed. You could have let me drown when I fell off the cliffs with the Oni. You could have let the Compies eat me after they poisoned me. You could have let the Solarii try to kill me the night I came to Yamatai. You could have forced me on a raft, shoved me out to sea, and left me to fend for myself. There were _so many times_ you could done any of that—but you didn't. Why would you put any effort into _any_ of that at all?"

Ash stopped completely, mere feet away from the door. She still wouldn't face him, but he knew she was listening now. Emboldened by this, he took a few cautious steps closer toward her, closing the distance.

"In fact, you apparently should have just let me go about my own way, because you don't like people, according to what you've told me before. I think you were trying your hardest to turn me away, to make me want to leave on my own if you couldn't force me. Wouldn't force me, even. You—you always gave me a choice. A choice to pick right or to screw up, but you always gave me a choice nonetheless."

She cocked her head, just enough to the side to flick her ear a little more in his direction. Her hair was a tumbled mess down her back, all twined and curled at the red-tipped ends and her tail flicked a little. He realized it's been some time since she's scraped it all up into her signature ponytail.

"You're so _stubborn_ , I'm starting to think you just don't want to admit you _do_ trust me, even it's just a little. You've brought me on hunts; you wouldn't trust anyone who just showed up here to do that. Nor would you allow them to watch your back when there's Solarii or Oni out patrolling. I know you can take care of yourself just fine—but the fact that you've let me come out with you plenty of times, without checking over your shoulder to make sure I'm not the type to stab you in the back—I think that says more than what you're saying now. Or what you're not saying, really."

She scoffed and lurched forward, her hand latched on the door handle.

"I suppose your stubbornness is just one of many things that I really admire about you."

She froze.

"Take it back."

He could barely make out what she said. He blinked at her, momentarily confused.

"Take it _back_ ," she repeated, louder, firmer. "Take that back _right now_."

He studied her backside before answering, "No. I won't."

"Allen Walker, you had better take that back!"

"Or what?"

She whirled on him, a thunderous expression painting her face like an oncoming storm.

"You don't get to say that kind of wishy-washy sentimental bullshit to-to-to a fucking _monster_ like me—you just _can't_!" Beneath her fury, he could hear the exasperation in her voice, a hint of desperation and terror underneath it all. That startled him. She was _afraid_. "There is _nothing_ good to like or admire about me."

"You can't make me feel any other way than what I do, Ash."

"And you're clearly an idiot, because you don't really know me. You don't know what I'm capable of and if you really did, you're goddamned right you'd be fucking scared of me, like you _should_ be."

"I've seen plenty of what you're capable of and what you can do. You've healed from horrible injuries and summoned infernos—anyone would be terrified of that—"

"You haven't seen me burn this entire island while everyone was still on it before."

A silence followed in the wake of her words, so palpable and thick that for a moment, it felt like the world around them had suddenly held its breath. It was as though he was seeing her for the first time again, a guardedness masking all emotions, except for the furious vexation aimed directly at him. It stunned him long enough for her to take advantage of his silence and kept on going.

"You don't know how it feels to live on this fucking island, in this hellhole, for hundreds of years, Allen. _Hundreds_. You can't even _begin_ imagine it, and pardon me if I say that I made a judgement error and went a little _nuts_ for a while. I burned this place—all of it—to the fucking ground. And I walked through the fire until there was nothing _but_ ashes left. So go ahead, and look me in the eye and tell me that again. Tell me how you could see _anything_ worthwhile or redemptive about me while looking me in the eye."

He said nothing, unable to find any words at all to retaliate in kind. Allen was stupefied at the declaration. He just kept staring and nearly a minute later, she took advantage of his ensuing silence.

"There's a reason they call me 'Fire Walker' for a reason, Allen. Even if they don't quite remember the actual events, they somehow _know what I've done_."

It hurt to breath. An ironclad vice had his lungs in its grip once more and just kept squeezing until it hurt to try. She kept him pinned in that mismatched, unblinking gaze, just waiting. When he failed to answer, she snorted.

"You couldn't possibly ever see any kind of redemption, coming back from something like that. Don't even pretend to try. There's no coming back from doing something like that. None."

She was gone before he could answer or take his next breath. Out the door she went and he was left alone.

Again.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Why was he out here, looking for her?

He kept asking himself that, even as he traversed deeper and deeper still into the forests, the mountains, across the treacherous rivers, through the various ruins. The raptors were oddly scarce. Or maybe she'd taken all of them with her, to keep him from tracking her.

If there was one thing she wasn't, it was stupid. She knew every inch of this island, while he didn't. Thinking about this entire place—from the low-rising forests and beaches, to the high peaked mountains and the tall spired radio tower—had once burned, completely and utterly to nothing but ash and dust and melted slag…

He couldn't imagine her being capable of it, in spite of her incredible powers. In spite of the person he's come to know.

And yet…he didn't doubt her claims. This very ground that he walked she claimed to have turned to molten slag and fragile dust. Allen stopped in his tracks, gazing around the forest that encompassed him. _What am I doing?_

She had left. She walked away from him. She was always one for actions rather than words. The fact that she had been the one to leave should have been a clear enough message.

 _I never should have said anything,_ he thought at first, before amending, _I never should have stayed this long. She was right._

She hadn't wanted him around in the first place. Ash wanted nothing more than to be alone. She was used to it. She's only ever tolerated him. Four years was nothing to her. She could afford the patience, because in time…she knew she'd forget. _Why did I bother in the first place?_

Allen turned on his heel, shouldering his pack more securely as he doubled back on his path, heading toward the beach.

He didn't see the Solarii brothers closing in on him until the first bullet made contact with his shoulder.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They were dancing. If one could call hopping around, and throwing their fists in the air whilst cheering ' _dancing_ '. It was the closest thing he could call it.

All wild-eyed and feral grins, they were watching him with expectant gazes, leering hungrily. He recognized one of the Solarii brothers, and he was leading from the front, a gun in one hand and a blazing torch in the other. It was the Russian man whom Allen had met his first night on Yamatai almost four years ago. He had the same scratchy beard, rough voice, and blue coat as he did that very night. Ash had called him Nikolai on several occasions.

Nikolai turned his back on Allen and addressed the gathered Solarii before him. They fell to a hush, diverting their attention from Allen. They had him tied to a makeshift post, his arms bound behind it, and a pyre was built underneath him. His shoulder hurt like nobody's business where he had been shot. They even had a gag around his mouth. How _lovely_.

"Brothers! Before us now is one of the fucking monsters that killed so many of our own! We might not be able to kill that Fire Walker beast, but we can kill this one! This one still bleeds after being shot." Nikolai glanced over his shoulder at Allen and sneered. Allen glared back.

It was Ash who had killed the Solarii, obliterated them, even. Allen had never so much as raised a claw with the intent to kill a Solarii. Scare or incapacitate, maybe. But that was the extent of it all. _It's her you'd want up here. Not that trying to burn her would do anything except make her mad._ _Or laugh at your attempts, even._

Allen invoked his Innocence. They couldn't see his hands, not with them bound behind his back and the Solarii were to his front. That was a small blessing. The blades that replaced his fingers bit into the ropes binding him easily. Nikolai had his back turned to Allen once again, and the Solarii were equally focused on the Russian. He was rousing them into such an excited frenzy, they were practically frothing at the mouth. Then suddenly, Nikolai turned and tossed the torch onto the pyre beneath Allen's feet and it went up in a hurried blaze. At the same time as the fire roared to life, the raptors struck.

They came out of nowhere, screaming shrilly and leaping onto the Solarii from out of the growing darkness. Gunshots fired off in sharp staccato cracks, adding to the cacophony. The pack bellowed and screamed together as one. Allen stared in shock before he realized he needed to stop gawking and—

"Shit!"

He sliced through the last of the ropes and tumbled off the pyre, smacking at his leg. The fire had caught onto it, and he winced as it finally died. His pant leg was a tattered, blackened mess and his leg was burnt now. The cool evening air bit at his burnt, tender flesh.

"Damn it!"

Something clicked in front of him and he glanced up to see Nikolai standing over him, a gun pointed at Allen's head. Nikolai was looking bedraggled and bloodied and there was a harsh light in his eyes. He started to say something, but a very large and very feathered something slammed into him, sending him into a fit of screaming cries instead. A gush of hot air puffed against his other cheek and Allen jumped, turning to see Clover right by his face. She peered down at him with bright golden eyes. She regarded him carefully as she purred and gently bumped his cheek with her snout.

Another raptor came trotting into view. Allen recognized the muted grey and faded purple markings. Mana. The Dakotaraptor snapped his jaws and timbered, craning his neck to look at Allen. Clover was sniffing his leg. She tried licking it, but Allen jerked away and pushed her snout from it.

"Stop that," he said. The fire that engulfed the pyre screeched and cracked beside them. Clover snarled and Mana cough-barked. The glow of the fire shivered and then quite abruptly, changed colours to a mix of pale icy blue and silvery-white. The raptors fell into a sudden hush, ceasing all noise.

The fire crept its way off the blackened wood, not even leaving a trace of glowing embers behind. Along the uneven ground it slithered, until it changed from untamed, hungry flickers to an uncoiled snake. The other raptors in the clearing cough-barked to one another and trotted out of the ghostly fire's path. Some were dragging still-conscious Solarii with them. One of them was beating on Spectre's snout feebly with his fist. The white raptor snarled and snapped his jaws on the man's fist and crushed it, sending the Solarii into another round of howls and screams.

All the while, the fire didn't deter from its path. Smoke trailed behind wherever it slithered until it rose its head and morphed into yet another shape. Bigger, bulkier, more limbs. More teeth. It retained its silvery-white and icy-blue hue however, as it transformed until it became something that Allen recognized.

"Carmilla," he said quietly. Just like Flame-Báthory, Flame-Carmilla was almost spot-on in appearance, right down to the imitation of scales and osteoderms. Even Flame-Carmilla's eyes were bright red and glittering like rubies. Flame-Carmilla opened its jaws into a fire-roar, and it was there that Allen could detect the small anomalies: the guttering tips of the teeth, the flickering horns above the eyes, the natural twitch of fire. It wasn't an absolute perfect imitation after all, but it was close enough in size that it shut the Solarii up into a stupefied, horrified hush. Even the man with his hand caught in Spectre's mouth was struggling to stay quiet.

That was when he noticed Ash, standing at the base of the flame-conjured dinosaur's feet, shrouded in a mantle of white fire, haloed in its light. She started forward toward the clearing, and Flame-Carmilla followed in her wake. The ground didn't shudder with the weight of the fake-fire dinosaur, but it might as well have. The men were trembling enough as it was. The raptors fled in the wake of fire, silent as ghosts. When Allen looked around, Clover and Mana were gone.

Ash stopped just a few feet shy of the first Solarii brother, her bow drawn and an arrow nocked back.

"I suggest you take your wounded and flee. This is your one and only chance. And I promise you, here and now, if I see your hands touch metal, I swear by my shiny little arrowhead, I will end you." Her voice was low but it rumbled far enough for even him, the furthest one out, to hear. " _NOW GIT!_ "

Her last words boomed like thunder.

Those who could run, they ran. Those who couldn't were dragged away by others. They crashed through the forest until the sounds of their retreat faded. When the stillness came again, it was almost oppressive.

They were alone. Ash had put away her bow and arrow. Flame-Carmilla faded into tatters until there was nothing but free-floating embers left. Eventually those too disappeared as dying scraps of light in the darkness. The light in the sky was barely enough to see her by when all was said and done. She had disappearing from sight as well, until she was nothing but a grey shadow and quickly vanishing into the background as the sun was setting. The raptors were beside her, having glided in under the cover of the darkness. She turned away, retreating just as quickly as she had arrived.

"Ash!"

She didn't stop. He pushed himself to his feet, intent on following, but he gasped when a biting pain lanced up his leg. The burn. He'd forgotten about it in the wake of the impressive fiery display. He faltered in his pursuit. When he was back on his feet, taking limping steps, she was already gone. When he reached the tree line in the direction she'd gone, he found her pack, her bow, and her quiver left behind. Allen stared off into the growing darkness that shrouded the forest and the mountains beyond.

Ash never spared the Solarii if she could help it.

So what had changed?

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He had to take a slower route to the beach, but he made it one piece and at night no less. Nothing seemed to greet him in the interim, for which he was grateful for and also, slightly suspicious. He's travelled the island at night before, and he almost always ran into something. Allen decided not to question it for now. Maybe later, when he was gone and out of harm's way.

When he made it to the old bunker he was shocked to find the camp already set up for him. And on the sand below the structure, sitting neat and pretty was a raft, already built up and sea-worthy, coupled with sturdy-looking oars. Allen stared at the entire setup for a good full minute. It didn't take him long to connect it to Ash having come here first—who else would it have been—and she must have planned for this for quite some time.

 _She planned on my leaving regardless of what I did or say. She knew one day I'd…_

He shook the thoughts from his head. The soon he left, all the better. If she wanted to be left alone, he'd gladly oblige. She'd already made it clear that she wanted nothing else of him.

Allen took a moment to check inventory in the pack he'd been left. The only thing he knew for sure that was inside it was a medical first aid kid. He had used that to fix up his leg and shoulder and moved on. Now that he had a moment to spare, he could actually see if he had provisions or not.

Apparently, Ash had thought of that too. There was plenty of food and clean water stored in the pack. There was also a clean pair of extra clothes, including his Black Order coat...

And there were other things as well, such as the calendar she had made him, and the trinkets and coins she'd risked her life for from the sea caves. There was the whittled raptors she'd made by hand and painted with care and attention to detail and had given to him as gifts. There was a few teeth from Báthory and Carmilla both in a Trike-skin leather pouch. And there, at the bottom of the pack…the silver dagger that Ash had landed on from the sea caves. The tip was broken off. He stared at it for the longest time. That was almost a month ago, nearly to the day…

Allen yanked it out, stood, and wound up his arm, tossing the damned thing as far as he could, straight into the ocean. It flew far, but eventually it began falling, way out beyond the craggy rock barriers that littered the bay. He stared at the cold grey waters for a long while, his fists clenched at his side. After a while, he returned to packing everything back up, shouldered his pack, left hers behind, and put out the campfire that had been made for him. It was time for him to leave.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The waves were choppy, as though they were determined to overthrow the raft and reclaim him, send him back by tide and current to the shores of Yamatai. He was even more determined to get away. He struggled past the rickety, salt-covered docks and the old barnacle-encrusted sailing ship that marked the end of the bay. His shoulder throbbed with the effort of fighting the water, and he could already feel blood seeping past the bandage he had hastily tied there.

Looking at the sailing vessel gave him pause. It was a shame it wasn't intact. It'd be nice to sail away if it were, instead of pumping a paddle on a raft that was threatening to be bowled over any moment now. He'd be a lot drier, too. The skies were clear for once, with no sign of a storm on the horizon.

A lonesome roar sounded off behind him, back toward the beach. He whirled, seeing Carmilla and Báthory standing side by side, ankle deep in the water. Some of the raptors were scattered along the sands, and he could just barely make out their warbles. They looked like tiny birds from this distance, scrambling about the legs of giants. A cough-bark sounded off above him and he craned his neck to see another raptor, crouched on the gunwale of the crumbling sailing vessel.

Clover.

She chittered at him, her feathers puffing up until she was nothing but a ball of feather fluff, her crest nearly lost in it all.

"I'm sorry, Clover, but…she doesn't want me here anymore. And I think it's best if I left."

Clover wailed at him and flapped her feathered arms at him. It took him a moment before he came to understand that she was signing to him. Her language was limited, but the modified sign was easy to comprehend: she swooped her arm in an arc toward her breast. She repeated it several times before screaming and disappearing from sight. She reappeared further away, closer toward shore on another part of the ship, as though enticing him to follow and repeated the sign.

 _Come back._

He stared after the raptor, at a loss for words. Clever girl.

Even if he had anything left to say, they would remain the same. Ash wanted him gone. She always has. She just got better at hiding her intentions from him. But the raptors, they never acted like this, not ever. Not in his four years of being here. This display was…unusual. Even for Báthory and Carmilla, who were still wailing mournfully from the beach, this was uncommon.

Allen looked between Clover's frantic signs and cough-barks, to the others still patrolling the beaches. They were growing smaller the further out he got. The sea was finally calmer as well, as though relenting that he was leaving. He thought back to the supplies in his pack and realized most of it had been more sentimental than dutiful to survival. Regardless, she hadn't needed to pack him anything, let alone come help him. He could have gotten away from the Solarii just fine. She knew it as well as he did.

She had chased away the Solarii in spite of the fact that he would have gotten loose on his own and could have escaped. She had, once again, stepped in when she hadn't needed to. Ash didn't even kill any of them—not directly, anyway—despite her protests that that was all they should ever do when they come across the bastards.

She had the raft and the campsite ready and built for him, waiting. He could have chosen to take it or leave it. Ash had even, quite possibly, sent the raptors and Báthory and Carmilla out to say their goodbyes. A bunch of dinosaurs, who just like their werewolf companion, would eventually forget him but had grown to know and tolerate him as an equal.

 _So why bother with me, ever again, if you were going to wash your hands of me?_

What had changed?

Allen cursed under his breath the entire way as he turned the raft right around and headed back to shore.

Something wasn't adding up.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Running Scared

**Chapter Sixteen:  
Running Scared**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _I don't wanna lose you  
To some bullshit hurt that could've been helped  
I'm trying to tell you something  
That a good, good heart is your greatest will  
_ **-"** _ **What Are We Gonna Do**_ **" by Glen Hansard**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Home was a wreck. Furniture was broken, books were thrown asunder. Cards lay littered all over the place. Board game pieces lay scattered across the ground. Broken arrows, a shattered bow, fragments of a rifle, pots and pans bent askew…

His first thought was a fight had broken out.

His second thought corrected that almost immediately when he saw no bullet holes, no fired arrows imbedded in anything, no blood trickled or spattered across the floor. No scorch marks to be had. This had been a rage-induced fit, plain and simple. He cautiously picked his way across the main floor and peeked into the rooms, one by one. They were all untouched. Even his room.

When he got to Ash's room, however, it was a different story altogether. Everything was broken, shattered, splintered to bits. From the Triceratops skull hanging on her wall to the dresser than held her clothes and all the books she had piled everywhere; it was nothing but ruin. He stared in disbelief before slowly backing out of the way of the open doorframe.

He felt a purring breath gush against the back of his neck and instinctively reached out to pat Clover. She was the only one who followed him here the entire way. She gazed upon the destruction that lay before her with anxious chitters, her body language clearly belying her distress.

"We'll find her. Don't worry."

"You won't have far to look," a familiar voice called from across the way. Light flooded the chamber from outside, if only briefly. Then they were cast back into the glow of candles and dying firelight. The metal door slammed home and he winced. Clover shrieked. Ash ignored her. She had her gaze on Allen. "What the fuck are you still doing here? After everything I did to get you nice and ready to leave like you wanted, you come straight back here."

His jaw clenched. She ticked a brow at him and he was reminded of when he first met her, but this…this was a pale imitation to that first time.

He motioned to the entire room instead.

"What did you do here?"

"Cleaned house. What's it fucking look like."

"You didn't do this to my room."

"Not your room anymore. And I was getting to it."

"You trashed your room," he pointed out.

"Why do you care?" She sounded vaguely exasperated and annoyed. He took a few steps forward before stopping completely when she reacted to him in a way she never had before: she reached for her knife, dropping herself into a ready position to fight. Her eyes never left him.

"You would seriously fight me?"

"Until you left," she replied. "You're not welcome here anymore. You overstayed it for four years. You should leave of your own free will before I _make_ you leave."

"What changed?"

"You were supposed to leave, and you didn't."

"No—I mean…why the sudden change of heart?"

"Because I'm tired of a _human_ living in _my_ space."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Pretty sure it is."

"You didn't kill the Solarii! You—you _spared_ them. You never spare them, not if you could help it!"

"Once in a blue moon fault of judgement. Won't happen again." She narrowed her eyes and flicked her gaze toward Clover. She jerked her head to the side, motioning for the raptor to move. Clover remained steadfast beside Allen. He stared at the raptor in awe. Ash growled. "Get out of the way, Clover."

The raptor hissed, baring her teeth at Ash. For a moment, the werewolf was thunderstruck, staring between Allen and Clover. Her surprise dropped away fairly quickly when she pinned him under her heavy gaze once more.

"Leave."

"No."

Ash growled deeper the second time around and boomed out louder, " _LEAVE_!"

"No."

She stalked forward. Allen braced himself. If she wanted to play the stubborn brat, then he could do the same. Clover stepped forward before Ash got near him, however, and screamed in the werewolf's face. When Allen placed a gentle hand on the raptor's flank, she stopped instantly and craned her neck to look at him and warbled softly. Ash was furious and looked ready to pounce on both of them.

"What the fuck did you do to my raptor?"

"I didn't do anything. She's doing this on her own."

"Bullshit," she spat at him. He threw up his hands in mock surrender.

"I swear!"

"No, you don't. _I_ swear. _You_ find other ways around it."

He sniffed, a half-chortle on his lips. She didn't even crack a smile. His eventually faded. Allen was quite aware of how itchy-fingered Ash could get. If he kept pushing his luck, she'd definitely snap. He's seen her close to it before and he didn't fancy being on the receiving end of her temper, if he could help it. He motioned for her to calm down.

"Please, just…I have to know something," he said softly. She growled again and it was a noise that couldn't possibly be made by a human. She was not-so-subtle in reminding him that she was very much so _not human_ , indeed. When she didn't respond beyond that, he continued. "Why bother? With any of it, I mean. You didn't have to do anything that you did last night. The fire, the Solarii brothers, the…the pack. All my stuff. You didn't have to bring any of that, or help me at all. You didn't have to put up with me at all, and for four years almost, too."

She watched him with that unrelentingly sharp gaze of hers, not missing a detail as she stared him down. Clover purred beside him, watching, waiting.

"You're under my watch until you leave this island. Until the moment you leave, I'm responsible for everything; from your good health to your injuries. If you got hurt, it would be under my watch and I failed to keep you unharmed. I don't need that on my conscience."

Her response surprised him more than he believed at first. And she wasn't joking.

"Are we done here?" She pressed impatiently. He didn't miss the flick of her eyes between himself and Clover. The raptor hissed back softly in warning. Ash bared her teeth. To the raptor, she said, "You and I are having words later on."

Clover snapped her jaws in response to the challenge.

"Ash…"

"Don't call me that anymore! It's not my name, it never was! You chose it, so take it with you when you leave!"

He recoiled at her words, but it didn't deter him. He moved closer. She, shockingly, took a step back.

"Ash—"

"Stop it!"

He reached for her. She reached back, with her fist to his jaw. It would have made for a beautiful right hook—if he hadn't been the recipient. He went flying and at first, the pain in his jaw and the jarring crash to the floor didn't register. It hit him only moments after landing. His injured shoulder and burnt leg ached in unison with the rest of his new injuries, like hot nails biting into the afflicted areas. It took him a few extra moments to catch his breath.

Ash was a tightly clenched ball of tension and frayed nerves, mere feet away from him. She looked ready to pounce. _She held back. She could have broken my jaw, easily enough._

Even so, his entire face now hurt. He gingerly prodded at his cheek and his fingertips came away red. Even if she was holding herself back, she still had managed to cut his cheek open with her bare knuckles. Her eyes were locked on him and both were blazing hot gold as she regarded him. Clover bellowed and quickly positioned herself between Ash and Allen, screaming bloody murder into the werewolf's face.

"Get out of my way, Clover. Or you're next." Ash rumbled. Clover shrieked back in challenge, yet she remained where she was, not advancing but neither was she retreating.

"Clover…Clover, it's all right. Please. Move over."

The green-feathered raptor squawked and warbled curiously as she glanced over at Allen. Eventually, she stepped aside and the living barrier between himself and Ash was gone. Clover shivered on the spot, distressed and anxious as she danced from foot to foot off to the side. Allen propped himself up carefully, wincing as everything decided to ache all at once.

"Ow…"

Ash snorted. Her hands were still balled up at her sides, trembling with rage.

"If you think, for one second, that I'm playing the part of a hero while I'm stuck on this fucking hellhole of a wet rock, Allen, think again. I'm just the lesser of all evils that's living here. I'm not a hero. I'm not _good_ , and I never was to begin with. I just happen to do good things from time to time. You have no idea what I'm capable of or what I've done."

"You're right, I don't. I've only seen a fraction of it, and…it is pretty awful, when you think about it."

She blinked at him, clearly not expecting that answer. He pressed forward, as he slowly pushed himself to his feet.

"But I'm willing to bet—and you know me, I'm a bit of a gambling man, I can beat you at cards any day of the week—that even you don't know what you're capable of."

She didn't answer him. Instead her jaw tightened further. Clover's soft hisses ceased altogether, drowning them in silence. Allen gently prodded at his shoulder and when his palm came away wet and red, he sighed.

"Shit. Seems like I didn't bandage that right." He muttered to himself. Turning back to Ash, he said, "I may not know all the bad things you've done, and you probably don't even remember half of them yourself. But I've seen all the good you've done since I've been here. You've saved people, not just me, even when you could have turned a blind eye to everyone. You trained the most dangerous predators on this island to communicate and work with you, so that they wouldn't hurt people. Well, except when you tell them to, of course, but that's beside the point."

Allen offered a faint and tired smile, one Ash didn't return.

"I've seen the good you've committed yourself to. You didn't have to put up with me for nearly four years when I decided to stay. You taught me how to hunt and how to craft arrows. You taught me first aid in the field. You taught me what plants are good and which are bad to consume, or to use for medicine or even which ones are poisonous. Would a horrible person, like you claim to be, teach anyone survival skills of any kind to someone they didn't intend on helping keep alive? And the treasure—you went and literally risked your life, you nearly _died_ , just to grab a few coins and knickknacks, all because I made a joke about going treasure hunting and pirates!"

She ducked her gaze, if only for a few seconds, but it was enough. Even her stance was less edgy.

"You saved a little girl from being burned to death and reunited her with her family. You kept a peace when it seemed like chaos was going to erupt. Albeit, it was in your usual gruff manner but…it works for you. Sort of." He offered a lopsided grin but winced when it tugged at his rapidly swelling, hurt cheek a little too much. "Ash…you think you're a monster, just because you're not human, and…granted it was probably humanity that deemed it an appropriate nomenclature for your kind, but…you're a lot closer to being human than most of the actual humans that live on this island than you believe."

That broke the tension. She flinched. A great, big twitchy _flinch_ , like he'd struck her fully across the face. She opened her mouth, but he cut her to the chase.

"I'm not taking it back, so don't even say it. I refuse to take that back, because I mean it. You know that I mean it."

She leered at him angrily, her jaw clacking shut with an audible click and she pivoted sharply on her heel, making for the exit. She was running away again.

He started after her and she predictably turned to face him. He was ready this time around. She struck empty air and he hit home, pinning her tightly in an embrace. She was belated in her response, shocked as what he was doing registered a lot later than she probably would have liked.

"Let go of me."

"Ash—"

"I told you to stop calling me that!"

She tried to struggle, and he only held on tighter. She could have easily overpowered him, but she didn't. He took that as a good enough sign to keep pushing forward.

"No. You're right when you said I chose that name, so I'll keep calling you that, until I leave. Then you can go back to being whoever it was you want to be: the monster you pretend to be or the lonely woman who doesn't have a clue what to do with herself."

She froze in his arms.

"I don't know who you were before you came here…but I'm also willing to bet, the woman I've grown to know and have become accustomed to just might be the closest I'll get to knowing her. I don't think the visage you portrayed when I first met you is the real you. You've put up a wall to keep everyone out, because you're more afraid to let anyone in than anything, even losing just one person you've decided to save."

He squeezed her tighter, briefly. She was still stiff in his arms, unsure of whether to push him away or to continue standing still. She seemed to decide on the latter for the moment.

"I once made a promise to save humans, to kill the Akuma and save the souls that were bound to them. And…I don't know what happened to the Secret War, now that I'm here. I want to assume that we won, the Exorcists and the Black Order—but I'm afraid to leave and find out. I don't think I'll find anyone associated to the Order if I left to go find them. I don't think I'd find any Akuma, either. I might be the last Exorcist left on this planet and that…that scares me. Not only because I'm the last one left, but also because I'm afraid to find out I failed to uphold my promise."

A promise he made to himself, to the souls bound to the Akuma, and most importantly, to Mana. A promise to keep moving forward and walk his own path, no matter what.

"I'll leave this island, if that's what you want. But I'm making you a promise, here and now; I won't rest until I find a way to get you off of Yamatai."

His throat tightened and his eyes grew hot. He squeezed them shut, pushing back the urge to cry. Slowly, he unwound his arms from her and backed away. She hadn't made a move. That was good so far, right?

"I'll go now, all right? Just like you wanted. You won't have to worry about me imposing on you any longer."

Clover squealed when he started heading toward the door and her light footsteps followed in his wake. Ash didn't stop him, and mostly, he was relieved. A part of him, however, was almost disappointed.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Back on the beach. Again. The waters were choppier now than they were earlier. He wasn't going to have a pleasant time getting back out, he could already feel his shoulder aching painfully in anticipation. The way down hurt a lot more, that was for sure. The campfire was long dead and out, just the way he'd left it.

But the raft wasn't where he'd left it. In fact, it wasn't there at all. When he scanned the waters, the sands, the bunker, the docks—he found pieces of it everywhere, most of which were floating in the waters.

"No, no, no…"

Clover peeped at him. More voices joined in and he found himself surrounded by the pack, warbling and vocalizing in those deceptively cute squabbling noises they liked to make when they made play. He wasn't distracted enough to not notice the giant three-toed footprints littering the sands all around.

Carmilla or Báthory—or both—had sabotaged him. They had destroyed the raft that Ash had built for him. He sank to his knees and dropped his pack, hands gripping the sides of his head.

"No, no, no—what am I going to do? I don't how to build a raft!"

 _Maybe I could build it from memory—it didn't look that hard of a design!_

He'd have to head back up into the forest to collect the wood, though, first. And then he'd have to find enough rope to lash them all together. Where was he going to find all of that, though, at this time of the day? It was nearly night and he didn't fancy running into a Carnotaurus or a Dilophosaurus in the dark, let alone a pack of Compsognathus.

Allen groaned. Sol and Luna bumped him on either side as they passed him by, squawking. He glowered sullenly at their retreating backsides.

"You probably helped put them up to this, didn't you?"

They chittered as innocently as they could before trotting away from sight. He sighed heavily and brought his knees to his chest, burying his face against them.

"Damn it…"

He was startled at the clunk of wood dropping on concrete in front of him. He was expecting some of the raptors to be playing cute. Allen wasn't expecting Ash. She watched him with an impassive mask, but her eyes told him more than enough. It was hard putting it all back on at once.

"You broke my raft."

She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I worked hard on that, you know."

He stared at her, her words not clicking right away. When they did, he leapt to his feet and pointed at her. " _You_ destroyed it, didn't you!"

"I just got here. And are you trying to get eaten by a Dilo or do you prefer death by Compies? I mean, they are kind of cute and all, rather fitting really, and it is getting dark out. They're always looking for easy prey. But I've told you time and time again, if you're staying out at night and prefer to remain alive, put up a damn fire, it'll drive them away! Have you forgotten _everything_ I taught you?"

"I…but you…and the raft—"

"And get that finger out of my face before I bite it off. I told you— _I just got here_."

"Then—then one of your rexes did it!"

"Not my fault you didn't tell them not to play with it before you left it lying around," she shrugged. Ash kicked her foot out and it connected with something that went flying. It struck his boot. He flinched back on reflex.

"Build your damn fire before you get eaten."

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"You…you told them to…break it…"

"I did no such thing." She huffed, looking offended. "But then again, you don't cheat at cards, now do you?"

He blushed and muttered under his breath.

"Wait…" He blinked and looked back up at her. "What're you doing here?"

"You need a new raft, don't you?" She sighed, stepping away. Her claws clicked and scratched against the concrete. She stopped by the bunker, where her pack was lying up against it. She swung it onto her shoulder. "I suppose I can help build you a new one. For a price, this time around."

"I…" he hesitated. "What…price?"

"Keep your promise," she simply said. All the malice she had once held in her visage earlier, all the rage and exasperation and so much more that had lined her face back at the cave was gone. Whether she was truly over it or not, he couldn't tell, but the fact that she was no longer practically frothing with fury made him feel somewhat better.

"…what changed?" He pressed. She watched him for a long time before shrugging.

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

"Then…I don't really know. I honestly don't anymore."

When she didn't answer and he didn't either, she sighed and clapped her hands, pointing at the wood at his feet.

"What did I say about the fire? C'mon, chop, chop! Unless you want to get eaten, then that's your choice."

He hurriedly scrambled to gather the fallen firewood. A pack of matchsticks was tossed beside him.

"Can't you start it? I know you can," he grumbled as he picked it up.

"Can, but don't want to. Besides, I won't always be around to do it, Allen."

He blinked at her. She ticked a brow up in return. "Well?"

"Fine, fine…"

It took him a better part of fifteen minutes to stack the wood and get the fire going. It was slow-going, but satisfying as the flames rose higher. When he sat down to rest by the fire, he began digging into his pack for the food he'd found in it earlier. Allen nearly jumped out of his skin when Ash plopped down beside him, pressing her shoulder to his.

"Um…" He could see her from the corner of his eye. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she had her gaze locked on the flames. "You…don't normally sit this close. Or even next to me, like this."

"I'm trying something new."

"Which is…?"

"Getting close to someone."

His breath hitched as she drew her knees up to her chest, chin resting on her arms wrapped around her legs.

"I'm not the most likeable person in the world. I know I'm not exactly the golden child in that department but…" She faltered, scratching the back of her head. Her ears flicked in response, twitching until she finished. "I'm an asshole. I already know I'm an asshole and…it's…hard for me to trust people. Especially when they're here and gone before I can even…remember anything about them, and I freaked out. Internally. When you decided to stay, I mean. And I thought you'd eventually leave, just like everyone else did, because that's what everyone does. Everyone leaves me behind. But when you didn't, I just…I don't know. I don't know how to deal with people on a personal level and… I treated you like shit. I'm sorry."

He turned to look at her. She kept her gaze locked on the fire. He hadn't been expecting such a drastic change of heart from her—not this soon. Not ever, in fact. He nearly flinched when she teetered over to lean her head on his shoulder.

"You…you can leave, if you want. I never would have stopped you. I wouldn't wish this hellhole on anyone. Not even those stupid Solarii brothers. It's…not their fault, not really, that they got drafted by a psychopath to be his expendable lapdogs, I guess." She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "But you don't have to leave either, if you wanted to stay, I mean. It's your choice. It was always your choice. I don't want to take that away from you. I won't force you to stay or to go."

Allen didn't answer, not right away. It was mainly because he didn't know how to answer that. He had always known she would never stop him from leaving—in fact, she'd been trying to encourage him for years, just a few shades shy of forcing him to go. But it really had always been his choice. She had never shoved him on a raft. She had never shoved him on the boat either. Twice now, they've had it in working order, and twice still, he's refused to board it and she's never forced him on it. Everyone else had been more than eager to leave, barely giving their impromptu guardian a second thought as to why she was staying behind.

He remembered how Korra, the pretty blue-eyed girl with the other benders, had offered to take him, even if room on the boat had been scarce. He remembered how Elena and Drake, and even the older gentleman, Sully, had tried to convince him to leave. They had even offered to take Ash.

Even when he had been ready to go the other day, ready to leave Yamatai for good—he came back. He couldn't have left her. She had something in her worth saving. A piece of humanity still buried inside her that she hid from everyone else and even herself, but he's seen glimpses of. She wasn't the monster she often claimed to be. She wasn't human, but she wasn't any less a person.

Something in her has changed, whether she acknowledged it fully or not.

Allen seized the chance to lean his head on hers, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She didn't fight it for once, although she seemed braced for the contact.

"I think I'll need the night to think about it, if that's all right."

"…take your time."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Concrete made for a terrible bed. He woke up feeling even worse than when he went to sleep. At least Ash had helped patch up his shoulder and redressed his burn wound. She even apologized for clocking him in the face and cleaned that mess up. She admitted she shouldn't have hit him, either.

 _And now I'm paying with all sorts of bumps and bruises,_ he thought with a long, drawn-out groan. The sun had barely risen, but that was just fine. He had a long day ahead of him, regardless.

When he stepped out from the bunker he and Ash had taken shelter in, he found camp was already neatly set up. There were several large fish roasting over the campfire, and quite a few more laid out on large leaves, just waiting for him. His stomach gave a painful, hungry lurch and he didn't think twice as he sat down to devour them all. By the time he began wondering where Ash had gone, he was down to the last fish.

 _She must have eaten already, if she laid all this out for me._

When he finished, he got up to check inside the bunker again. Her pack was still there, as was her sleeping roll. She had even brought his as well. _At least it was warm, sleeping next to her._

The moment the thought struck him, he felt his cheeks flush.

"Ow, sonuvabitch! Fuckin' hell!"

He jumped at the sound of Ash's voice, drifting its way over toward him. It came by the water. He hurried over to the edge of the walkway overlooking the sea, and he saw Ash down below on the sandy beach. She already had a raft halfway built. A pile of materials were sitting well away from the water, ready to be picked up and added to the contraption. He made his way to the staircase on the other side of the crumbled compound that led to the beachhead. She didn't look at him as he approached, but her ears occasionally swiveled in his direction.

She sucked at her thumb for a moment, and yanked it away to inspect it.

"Fucking splinters. Fuck you."

"You're in a mood of sorts," he called. She glanced at him finally, looking rather sullen.

"Fuck. Splinters."

"If you'd woken me up, I would have helped." He told her, to which she only shrugged. Instead, she returned to inspecting her thumb, before picking at it.

"Aha! Got you, you stupid sonuvabitch."

"You realize you're yelling at a splinter and it can't actually understand your anger at it?"

"Do you want a few F-bombs dropped your way?" He held up his hands in mock surrender as an answer. She snorted. "S'what I thought."

She continued lashing together a few pieces of wood and he stood idly by, watching. She worked quickly and without pause, her hands a flurry of movement that had already memorized this kind of work. How many times has she had to do this when the PT boat was not here, he wondered.

"Did you eat?" She asked abruptly. He blinked in momentary surprise.

"What?"

"Did you eat," she repeated, looking his way. Her eyes flicked over him before dropping to her hands.

"I did, yes. Thank you." He closed the distance between them, stooping down to still her hands. "And I've also decided."

She looked up from her work, her lips pursed. She didn't meet his gaze. "You've decided to stay, haven't you?"

He nodded, smiling sincerely at her.

"What about all that other stuff you've talked about, in bits and pieces? Your…Black Order and the Exorcists? I thought you made some kind of promise to them first."

His smile faltered, if only for a moment. He sat back onto the cool sand and sighed.

"I'm…having doubts that the Black Order is still out there. But I'm also having doubts that the Millennium Earl and the Noah and the Akuma are still around, either. If they were still around, I don't think there'd be any people left in this world. I want to believe things went right for us, even if I wasn't there to witness it."

"How can you have that much faith?"

"It's just a feeling I have. Just like the one I have with you, for example."

"Me."

"Yes. You claim to have been born near…the late twentieth century. That's over a hundred years after I was born. If people didn't exist, then how does it explain you? The Solarii on this island? My point is, if there are still people in the world, then the Akuma and their masters failed to destroy everything. We must have won. But if that's true, then there's…just no place for me out there. Where would I even go, if I left here? It's hundreds of years past my own time. I'll bet that the world's changed so much since then, and even more if you're really a few hundred years old. I'd be more lost than I usually get. I wouldn't know where to start in trying to start a new life out there."

Ash was watching him with curiosity now and not her narrow-eyed suspicion she usually regarded him. It was more endearing to see her as such, in fact.

"Everyone I knew is gone…there'd be no one left. I'd be a name in a history book, if I'm lucky enough, although I doubt it'd be public knowledge. But here, I can try to help you at least. And you'd probably assimilate more quickly than I could on my own out in the world. Maybe…if we get off this island together, we could…" He hesitated. He had never really thought that far.

Ash heaved a sigh of her own, exasperated by his lengthy silence.

"I was born in America, I think. Maybe we could…travel there. I don't know how well that'd work out, though, since I don't have a passport and you kind of need one these days…"

"I needed a passport to travel too, you know," he grumbled back.

"Simmer down, old man, I get it. It was harder in your day and us young'uns have got it easy."

"Old man!" He squawked back indignantly. She laughed quietly and waved him down.

"Chill, would you? The white hair is actually very charming. Suave, even. Not a lot of people can pull it off as young as you. I know I would never be able to," she said with a conspiratorial wink at him. She returned to working on the raft, her tail swaying back and forth behind her as she went. It could almost be called a wag, if it weren't so slow an arc. She laughed as she did and he felt his face go red.

"I mean, maybe we could travel. I dunno. We'd have to get to actual land first, and not swept back to this wet rock. Even without Himiko jacking shit up, the Dragon's Triangle makes the Bermuda Triangle down in the Bahamas look like Disneyland."

"What's Disneyland?"

"Oh, shit that's right, that's…that's spoilers right there. Um…look, the point is, there's enough storm systems that move through this particular area that could ruin our day. It's definitely why we experience a higher rate of getting hit by them than most other areas in the world. After that, though…I don't know, man."

She rocked back on the balls of her paws, looking at her hands and the raft.

"If you were born in America…then we could visit there, first. Do you recall what part?"

She glanced back up at him and he grinned back. She stared at him like he had grown a second head. "I…I was joking."

"Well, I wasn't. I told you, I promised I'd find a way off this island for you. And I intend to keep that promise." He stood and brushed the sand off his pants before offering his hand to her. "I'm staying. You can stop working on the raft now. I won't need it. _We_ won't, in fact. Not until we've found a way to stop Himiko from coming back, permanently."

She stared at his hand for a long time, hesitating. Fear. That was in her eyes, he instantly recognized. She was afraid. Afraid to accept his offer, his promise, to move forward, even. She'd been at this for too long, been here for far too long and far too alone. He wiggled his fingers expectantly. "Come on, Ash. I know we can figure something out together."

She transferred her mismatched gaze to his face, studying it, scrutinizing it, trying to find a lie when in reality, there was none. He wasn't joking. He wasn't lying. He intended to keep his promise to her.

 _Maybe when we leave together—not if—we can try to find where the Black Order used to stand. And I can pay my respects to my friends, find out what happened to them. If the world is still standing, then they succeeded. I have to thank them for that, at the very least._

Then, very slowly, she reached for his hand and took it in her own, squeezing it in hers. He pulled her to her feet.

"Deal," she said, cracking a very thin, crooked smile. "By the way…you look ridiculous, with your cheek all swollen like that."

And the moment was gone. He scowled at her. "And whose fault do you think that is?"

"I know, I know…I am a complete and utter asshole. I'm sorry I punched you in a fit of rage. I'll try not to let it happen again." He snorted, but he couldn't find it in him to stay mad. He felt too good at that moment. Allen felt like he'd finally made progress with this stubborn woman.

It just took four years to do so.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Laughs

**Chapter Seventeen:  
Laughs**

 **Notes: A lighter point in the story to break up the tension from the last few chapters.**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _"Oh god…look at_ this _fucking clown."_  
 **-Columbus, " _Zombieland_ "**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The coming days were sluggish, but they came and went all the same. Four years almost to the day came and went as well, and without fanfare. Next thing he knew, he was twenty years old and it was Christmas Day. It felt surreal to roll that around in his head. Ash didn't seem to notice anything was amiss. Not that she would; he hadn't said anything to her, nothing about the holidays nor about his birthday sharing that same date. She barely had a care for the passage of time for herself, other than to keep vague track of the nights of the full moon. She already did that by checking the skies outside every night, regardless. A calendar was next to useless to her.

And yet…

He couldn't help but feel things were…different somehow.

Maybe it was because it was colder than usual outside, almost freezing even. He didn't want to step back outside if he didn't have to. The warmth of the hearth was enough to keep him inside, but if it began to snow, he'd want to see that. He loved watching it fall, quietly marking its place in the world where it fell.

Or maybe things felt different because of the extra food being cooked. Although, that couldn't really be it. Ash sometimes did that; they'd come back from a hunt, have so much left over, that she'd end up cooking it all at once and they'd both gorge themselves until full for days. Somehow, Ash had a bigger appetite than him. He did not believe that to ever happen, for anyone to ever out-eat him, but apparently it was a thing now. She claimed she was always hungry, that werewolves as a whole were like that. He wasn't inclined to disagree.

Maybe it was the tiny pine tree sitting off to the side, near the wall with the attractive skulls hanging above it. The tree was a little on the scruffy side, but with the carved decorations and pieces of shiny metal hanging off its boughs, it helped distract from that oversight and—

Allen stopped dead in his tracks and he stared long and hard at the tree.

Not just any tree.

A Christmas tree.

Okay, fine, it wasn't an actual _traditional_ Christmas tree. It wasn't the right kind, but it was a close enough one and it was right in front of him. The entire chamber smelled of wood smoke and cooked spiced meats and pine sap and it was all a heady, delicious combination. There were even presents under the tree and they were wrapped up, too.

He ventured closer, his breath coming in small, disbelieving shudders as he reached out to touch one of the decorations. It looked almost like a Dilo, with its neck frills splayed out and jaws gaping open…

"Sorry they aren't very pretty," Ash said behind him. He whirled on his heel, his heart pounding as he nearly fell backwards into the tree. Ash caught his flailing arm and pulled him upright before he could with effortless ease. She released his hand when he regained his footing and scratched the back of her head. "I didn't have time to paint all of them. I kind of decided to do this last minute, so…it's not all that great—"

"No, no, no! This—this is wonderful! Really, it's fantastic! I didn't even—just, wow!"

He turned to gaze up and down the tree again, his eyes alight. He caught glimpses of intricately designed snowflakes repurposed out of metal detritus, and predictably, dinosaur carvings were littering the boughs of the tree. Some were painted. Others were still roughened shapes that vaguely resembled the creatures that inhabited the island. But, they were recognizable all the same. And at the top of the tree—

"Timcanpy?!"

There, curled around the top of the tree was the little golem, but it wasn't moving. It dawned on him that it was just another carving and one of the few that had been painted. He briefly wondered where she had gotten the paint.

"You…mentioned a golem. With wings and tiny horns and stuff. I don't know if I got him right, so it's probably not perfect. You didn't describe him in great detail, so I tried to work with what I had and—and you're crying. I…did I do something wrong— _oh Jesus!_ "

There was a hint of distress leaking into her voice and she just barely brushed the tips of her fingers on his arm when he had turned to swooped her into a crushing hug.

"No, it's fine, it's perfect—it's perfect, really! It's a wonderful birthday present!"

"Wait, wait, wait…birthday? I thought this was Christmas? Did I miss something? Did I get the dates wrong? It's supposed to be Christmas, right?"

"It's both, for me. Christmas and birthday," Allen explained before he paused, realizing he'd swept the werewolf, quite literally, off her feet to hug her. Gently he put her back on the ground. Was she shorter than usual, or was he just taller?

"I never told you, have I? My father, he adopted me on Christmas. I never knew my birthday, so we always celebrated both."

"Ah. Explanations. I like those. So, I guess…happy birthday and Happy Christmas? …please, stop crying. I'm getting…twitchy, like I did something wrong. Stop. St-stop crying. Oh god, what do I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, you—I couldn't have asked for this. This is truly amazing."

"You didn't ask. I just did it," she replied with a shrug. "I already missed the last three you were here…I thought I'd make it up."

"But why now?" He wiped at the corners of his eyes, smearing tears across his skin.

When she grinned, it was like she had a secret she wasn't quite ready to give up.

"I'll answer that question with my own question: why not?" Then she winked and motioned for him toward the tree. "Go. Go on. Presents, shoo. Go. Now."

"I wish I'd known you were doing this. I would have tried to get you something."

"Naaaaah, I don't need anything. Oh," she snapped her fingers. "How old are you, by the way? I…just realized, four years later, that I still have no clue."

Ash smiled rather sheepishly at him. He supposed he could forgive her for the oversight. He had never told her and she had never really asked.

"Twenty." The word rolled off his tongue and it felt so foreign that he was dazed at the revelation himself all over again. "I'm…I'm twenty."

"Wow. One more year, and in America, you'd be of legal age to drink. If they haven't changed the laws by now, a few hundred years later. Beers next year? Pretty sure I can whip some up. Or maybe some whiskey. I'd offer my moonshine, but I think it'd burn a hole in your stomach."

She grinned broadly and he could only feel sick at the mention of beer. Her smile dropped rather quickly. "I'm…I'm going to go ahead and guess, judging by the look on your face, no beers."

He nodded, feeling queasy. "I've had a rather…bad experience linked to alcohol."

"What'd you do, drink some liquor and trash someplace in a drunken rage? I'd pay to see that," she joked.

He shook his head.

"No. Much worse. And it involved quite a bit that I'm not going to repeat because I barely remember myself."

"Ohhhh…okay. So, no alcohol for you, like, ever?"

"If you can help it."

"…you're a _lightweight_ , aren't you?" She was grinning wickedly at him again.

"Stop that."

"Oh-ho-ho, you are!" She was laughing at him now. He glowered from the corner of his eye at her, already feeling a blush creeping up his neck and to his cheeks.

"It's not funny."

"Yeah, it is! I wanna see drunk Allen; that sounds fun, all right!"

"You're terrible!"

"No, I'm not! You're too uptight, trying to maintain that chivalric, gentleman-like attitude and it's _bullshit_ , okay? Drop the act, live a little! Next year, rounds are on me!"

"Ugh, please no. I'd really rather not…"

"Too late! I've got it planned, all up here!" She tapped the side of her temple.

Suddenly, Allen didn't look forward to next year. He dreaded it, very much so indeed.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He didn't know how she had done it, but she managed to move off the topic of 'Operation Drunk Allen', as she so lovingly called it. He'd have a whole year to sabotage the idea, though, so he decided to maybe not worry too much about it so early on.

The evening pressed onwards, and when they finished up the food—he was right, she had cooked quite a lot, and somehow, yet again, managed to eat just a little more than he—she moved him over to the presents.

"No buts, just…go. Go, go, go. Enjoy. I don't want to hear anything about me, nothing. Nada, zip, zilch, I don't need anything, at all. Ever. This is for you."

He was a little disheartened that she didn't want to be included, but nonetheless, he dove in and grabbed the first, most obvious and conspicuously-shaped present from under the tree: a bow.

The paper it was wrapped in was very old, delicate, and yellowed and it tore easily under his fingers. He was almost expecting a gag gift of some sort—perhaps a bundle of sticks twined together, like his first bow had once been.

Instead, it was anything but. Dark wood and springy to the pull, and there were carvings etched in the bow's arms. The wood itself had been sanded down, polished to a shine and smoothed completely. The handle had grooves perfect for his grip and when he tested it, he had a better reach.

"I adjusted the bowstring to accommodate your longer reach. That way, you don't stress the bow by pulling back further than it needs to go, but you also don't sacrifice draw and firepower when you release. It was…tricky. Achievable, but tricky." He faintly nodded, touching the etchings in the wood faintly. His eyes were hot and itchy again. Ash stirred beside him.

"Oh…you're gonna cry again, aren't you? And yep, they're off, the waterworks and—you, you want to hug me again, don't you?"

"What do you expect me to do, when you're actually being nice to me?"

"Erm…a firm handshake and an optional pat on the shoulder—Christ! Ah. Okay. Let it out. So there's no more for the rest of the night."

"Not a chance. Every present gets a hug."

"Note to self: less presents next year."

"Ash!" He laughed.

"Kidding." She paused. "Totally not kidding."

He squeezed her tighter instead of letting go. She finally relented and tapped his shoulder in that awkward manner of hers. It was the closest he'd get to a hug from her.

"There, there."

He sniffled and swallowed back a hiccup as he broke the embrace. "Stop it. I mean it. This is actually the nicest thing I've gotten in a long while. Thank you."

She flapped her hand in a dismissive wave. He grabbed it to make her stop. "All joking aside, I'm serious. I really mean it. _Thank you_."

She watched him with a steadfast gaze, not responding at first. Then she reached with her other hand and patted his. "Not a problem. I guess this means I'll have to top myself next year."

"Maybe we'll be somewhere else," he said in a hopeful tone. "Somewhere far from Yamatai, perhaps."

She didn't quite meet his smile with her own.

"…maybe."

She didn't sound hopeful at all.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

His room was beginning to get a little crowded. Not that he minded, but he'd like to not trip over something every other day.

 _I might need to steal one of those empty footlockers soon,_ he mused as he pulled himself out of bed. It was still early, he guessed. Another New Year had passed. _And I'm still twenty._

A very small part of him hadn't really believed he'd make it to this age. It was a rather unoptimistic part of him that he didn't like to listen to, though, and he quashed it down, because dammit, he _did_ make it.

 _But at what cost_ , the little voice crowed before he squashed it down for good. No, thinking like that wasn't going to get him anywhere.

He padded out of his room barefoot, yawning before the smell hit him. Coffee. He smelled coffee.

It was, dare he say, delicious-smelling. It was one of those rare indulgences Ash was keen on savouring for as long as she could.

Ash was at the couch, her feet kicked up on the battered coffee table. Really, he wondered what value it had in her heart. It looked even worse now than it had before her little rage-fit-tantrum against everything in this place several months back. How she managed to repair it was also beyond him.

Maybe she was secretly magic.

She had quite a number of secrets she had yet to divulge to him.

…although frankly, to be fair, so did he.

Touché.

He shook the thoughts of poor, abused coffee tables from his head and nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw that Ash was…not really…dressed. Not like her usual self, at least.

Even though her eyes were closed, she had probably already noticed him. Her ears didn't miss much in this place. Neither did her nose. That was probably why she had a better time sneaking around him while she had been healing from the sea cave incident than he had with her and his broken leg.

He kept going, trying to not let the falter in his steps alert her.

"Mornin'," she said, her eyes still closed, a chipped and faded off-white mug of coffee in hand.

He averted his gaze hurriedly as he made a beeline for the stove. Breakfast was already cooked, as usual.

"M-morning," he replied. "Erm…you…look different today."

"You sound like you're twelve and seeing a woman for the first time."

"It's not the first time I've seen a woman, it's just…you."

Baggy pants were one thing. A halter top with thin straps, showing off belly and shoulders and a bit of cleavage, was quite another. That and…and all the scars…

Ash was watching him with her gold eye like a hawk, a crooked smile on her face. Slowly, she closed it again and sipped her coffee.

"Well, when I'm not entertaining guests, I like to prance around naked. And since I can't do that right now, well…best I can do."

He stiffened at her words, groaning softly _. No, no. Don't imagine that. Don't. She's just teasing you, she does that a lot. Don't—_

Gah. Too late.

Ash snickered behind him from the couch and sighed in triumph.

"Yessssss, first awkward thought of the day. Me one, you zip."

"Do you really think it appropriate to do that to yourself? Especially where I'm concerned? Have you no shame?"

It wasn't like she wasn't _unattractive_. Sure, she had scars all over, but…she wasn't ugly because of them. Now that he's seen them—most of them, all at once—he couldn't imagine what she'd look like without them. And well, she wasn't bad in the endowment front, either, if he was honest, and she was rather curvy despite her leanness. Fit and athletic and it worked for her. And she was actually very pretty and…and…

…he should probably stop while he was ahead.

"Eh. I'm not selling nothin' physical or giving it out for free. Gotta get my kicks somehow. So no, no shame to be had for the jokes I put out. Not like you're actually viewing any naughty bits."

He glowered at her as he gathered his plates, all tottering together in a leaning tower as he headed back for his room.

"Aw, you're not gonna eat out here? C'mon, I was joking! You know I was! Allen!"

He ignored her. He was going to ignore her for the rest of the day for that.

A day was nothing compared to the entire month she went silent with him about two and a half years back because of stupid argument. She wouldn't say anything beyond a signed word to him, and she was so much better at it than he was. He had ended up giving up most of the time.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

His new bow really was easier to draw and execute a shot than his old one. Just as Ash had promised, it accommodated with his longer left arm and the pull of the bowstring to reach his cheek without sacrificing drawing or firepower. However, it also took time to adjust to it. It took more strength to draw the bowstring back, and that left him struggling at times to maintain good posture and maintain steady shots. He was beginning to grow accustomed to the changes, and he thought he was doing fairly well by the end of the day.

And yet—she was still treating him like a new student. Although in a sense, she was so much older than he was. Compared to her, he really was.

That didn't make him feel any better that she'd occasionally flick his elbow or give his abdominal a light smack and tell him to tighten his core, or breathe evenly, slowly, to keep his focus on the target.

He finally got fed up with it and dropped his stance, glaring down at her. Oh, that was good. It really did feel good to be tall.

She raised a brow at him, her lips pressing into a displeased thin line.

"There a problem?"

"Yes, actually—I've been doing this for four years. I think I can do this without you criticizing every move I make when we come down to the range!"

"I'm pretty sure that I've been at this for a mu—"

"—much longer time than I have even been alive, yes. Thank you, I know."

"Oh, ho. Got a bit of bite in you today, I like that. Okay, smart ass, well, if you don't think you're in need of any more tutoring, then why don't you put your money where your mouth is? You always keep mentioning you're a 'gambling man'—"

"—I don't _always_ say I'm a gambling man, just _sometimes_ —"

"—so how about a wager huh? I win, you shut up and do as I say when we're on the range. You win, I leave you alone, for forever from this day forward when we're on the range." She offered her hand out to him. He didn't hesitate a moment in grabbing it.

"Deal."

She didn't hesitate in yanking him down to her level and she leaned forward, her natural warmth embracing him quickly while her breath ghosted across his ear when she whispered, "Sucker!"

Ash pulled away and quickly trotted down the range.

"I'll set things up," she said with a mocking salute. Then she was gone, disappearing around the bend. He stared after her, the gears clicking slowly into place.

"Oh…wait. What…what did I just agree to?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

All the targets had been pulled free of their previous shots. Most arrows were splintered, broken messes, but the arrowheads were still salvageable. Ash deposited a good number of them into a bucket and they clanked away inside the metal pail. When she finished, she handed him a new quiver. The feathers on the shaft were bright green with dashes of light greys.

"Clover," he said, reaching out to brush his fingers across them.

"Donated feathers." Ash nodded. She hefted another quiver and buckled it to her belt. The feathers on hers were faded violet and muted greys. Mana's feathers. He threw his quiver over his shoulder, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. What has he just agreed to, he wondered for the umpteenth time. He was going to lose, he just knew it. This was definitely a bet he couldn't win. And there was no cheating in archery. Not easily or quickly.

"Rules are, no loosing arrows at each other," she started.

"I thought that would be obvious." He groused back.

"No stealing each other's arrows, for more obvious reasons. Colour-coded." She motioned between their two quivers and the feathered fletchings.

"The one with the most arrows in targets along the course is the winner. If you miss, you can't pick the arrow back up and reuse it. If you hit bullseyes, double the points. Ready?"

"Wait, what? No!"

"Too late! Go!"

She darted off into the underbrush and he stood there, his mouth gaping open.

"I…dammit!" He went off after her. Already, though, he could tell he wasn't going to win.

It didn't mean he couldn't _try_.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

She wouldn't wipe that smug grin off her face. His mood was entirely soured as she, predictably, counted yet another arrow to her pile and he…didn't. Compared to her shots, he had done horribly.

She could fire off at least three arrows at once and hit three different targets. He had almost forgotten that she had that kind of skill in her arsenal. In fact, it was one of the first things she had ever shown him and he had forgotten about it! How embarrassing…

"Well, Mister Big Shot, looks like I win."

"Of course you won, you're much better at this, you've had _years'_ worth of practice."

"Exactly. _Practice_. I probably had no one to teach me. I think I had to learn from experience and mistakes and a lot of pain. You're lucky you're learning from someone and not doing it on the fly, like I most likely had to do."

She stepped closer and reached up, just enough, to yank him down her level, her face right up to his. He could feel her body heat more tangibly up close like this and his heart gave a particularly hard thump in surprise when she pulled him closer. He could feel the curve of her body pressed practically against his as she leaned in.

"So don't question me when I tell you to do something on the range, because it might just save your life. You won't shoot a human like the Solarii, fine. I'll live with that. But if it's an Oni, you'd better loose your arrows, and you'd better aim true. Those bastards are quicker and harder to take down. Understand? This wasn't just a bet, it was a test to see how well you did under pressure shooting in a time limit, while watching my back, and you failed, miserably."

She let him go. He still could scarcely breathe, not with her so close.

"Back to practice," she snapped her fingers, all business again, motioning toward the range. She had more words lined up on her lips but they died suddenly and she glanced skyward, her ears ramrod straight, shoulders back and her spine stiff. "No. Cancel that. No more practice, actually."

"Another storm?"

She nodded. "Big'un. We'd better get back before it hits."

He almost sighed in relief. He was beginning to get sore, and not just physically.

His pride hurt more than just a little bit too.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

They made it back mere seconds before the downfall hit them. When it came down, it came down hard. Allen grinned as the door shut behind them, locking out the worst of the downpour.

"Made it," he said with a relieved grin.

"Juuuuust barely. God, I hate rain."

"I don't mind it, so long as I'm not stuck in it," he admitted.

Ash made a noise of disgust. "Ugh. You're weird. I hate it. I can hold a flame in the rain, but I waste more energy trying. I can still track scent markers, but it's always ends up muddled sooner or later. Not to mention my hearing suffers just enough for the white noise to masks potential threats more easily. Fuck the rain. Fuck this island, just—just fuck everything."

She threw up her hands as high as she could manage—which wasn't very high to begin with—and stalked off toward the couch.

He hesitated, remaining where he stood, before following. She plopped down immediately and he slowly lowered himself in a seat. He jumped when she flopped over, her head leaning on his shoulder.

"Mmm…I guess this isn't so bad, though. I think…I might get used to this kind of thing." She paused. "No bear hugs. You have tapped out your reservoir of hugs until next Christmas."

"I don't give you bear hugs."

"Liar. I thought my lungs were going to pop with how hard you squeezed me. Pop!"

She laughed and settled closer, drawing her legs up onto the couch. He snorted, and glanced down at her while she craned her neck to rest her chin on his shoulder and look up at him.

"Pop!" She repeated softly with a grin. He rolled his eyes, but laughed nonetheless.

"I would never dream of popping your lungs on purpose."

"So, it'd be an accident."

"I think your lungs are tougher than you're letting on. What was it you told me before, you can hold your breath for over an hour underwater?"

He leaned into the back of the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She sighed. Ash was warm, invitingly so. She had repositioned herself against him and it felt _right_. Or maybe it was the soothing heat she was emitting. It was seeping into his tired, sore muscles and maybe that was lulling him into thinking like that. Either way…he didn't want to move and he didn't want her to get up for anything. Allen closed his eyes, leaning his head back a little. He wanted to linger like this for just a little bit longer…

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen woke up alone on the couch, lying along its full length and a blanket draped over him. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and rubbed at his head. Everything ached worse than it had yesterday. She had put him through the wringers, more so than usual. He hasn't felt this sore in a while.

"Mornin'," Ash's voice drifted to him. He looked up and saw Ash dressed similarly like she had the other morning: baggy pants, bare pawed feet, halter-like top. She had her back facing him as she worked to finish up breakfast. He gradually found himself transfixed by the presence of more scars and the tattoo that engulfed her entire backside. Or what he could see of it, which was quite a lot.

Jagged rips traced down the length of her back in a diagonal fashion, from top right to bottom left. Right over the spine. And they didn't look like they were shallow hits, either. He remembered those, if only just barely. There were a few puckered scars, small pinpricks on her sides as well. Gunshot wounds, he recognized them as. He had his own to match. He recognized the handiwork of the silver knife from a while back, the scar a little darker than the rest.

And then there was the giant tattoo that was directly over most of the scars. At first, he thought it was a giant cross, but no. No, that didn't fit into Ash's aesthetic; she disliked mainstream religion like Christianity or Catholicism. She had made it poignantly clear on more than one occasion over the last four years that she was, in no way, an overtly religious person.

In fact, she cursed God's name more often naught and didn't have any qualms or reservations about it either. They've also had more than one fight regarding the actual existence of God and everything that entailed to it. She was about as stubborn on her stance as he was on his, especially considering his background and the war he'd been involved in. They've both eventually agreed to drop the issue and not bring it up if they could.

The not-cross on her back, however, was as intriguing as it was familiar in design. He felt like he's seen it before. While it was vaguely cross shaped, where the top of the cross should have reached defiantly for the sky, it was instead an oblong shape, looping in an almost circular fashion, hooking onto the arms. It was a rustic golden-yellow and designed in such a way that it almost looked like she had actual gold grafted onto her flesh, and somehow that suited her just fine. Seeing something silver, even tattoo ink, didn't settle right with him. Not after the incident in the sea caves…

He had never seen this tattoo before, not in detail and for obvious reasons, but he's seen the others: the pure black band around her neck like a faux choker necklace and the bright green four-leafed clover engraved with the number '13' in darker green print over that on her left hand. But then he caught glimpse of something he'd never seen on her. It was a paw print, plain and simple in design, and inside that…a pentacle. He stared, transfixed. It was upright and designed like a Celtic knot, with its arms crossing over one another, but recognizable all the same.

"Getting a nice eyeful over there? If you had a camera, I'd tell you to take a picture. It'd last a lot longer."

Allen gulped down next breath and nearly choked on it when he saw Ash looking at him.

"I…it's just…I've never seen those…those tattoos."

He motioned meekly toward the one on her shoulder and her back. Her eyes flicked once to her shoulder and once over it.

"Right. I sometimes forget about them too," she admitted with a shrug. Then she motioned to the plates piled around the stove area. "Food's done. Dig in."

"Why a pentacle?" He blurted out abruptly, before clacking his jaw shut tightly. Ash paused, hands hovering over a few plates she had set aside for herself. She stared at him intensely and he just about regretted opening his mouth. She looked back over her shoulder, down at the paw print and the star etched in her skin so permanently.

"The…penta _gram_?" She said it slowly, as though she was correcting him. "I…don't even remember, Allen. We've been over this before; I can't recall everything from early on in my life. If I could…I'd tell you." She sounded so…apologetic and she was sincere about it, too. He almost felt bad for prying.

"It's just," he paused, lifting his bangs and showing the scar above his brow. "It's…similar."

"Allen…I probably got this when I was literally, not figuratively, around your age. Who knows why I got this? Most likely, I did it to piss someone off. Maybe my parents." She shrugged with a waning grin. "And that's a scar on your head, not a tattoo. Besides, stars are pretty common themes for tattoos…if I remember correctly."

She looked away from him and her eyes were clouded over, and he knew she was gone, off in that head of hers. She looked doubtful and troubled and was now gripping her shoulder tightly, distractedly.

"Ash," he called to her, getting up from the couch. She didn't respond to the first, and it took the third or fourth time around for her to glance his way again. By that time, he'd crossed the room to her side. He lightly touched her elbow and she nearly flinched away, but stilled almost instantly when she realized it was him. Clarity flooded back in her gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's…it's fine."

"Are you sure—"

"I'm sure," she asserted more firmly. "I'm fine. And your food is getting cold. Might want to dig in."

She wasn't really fine. He already knew that much. She just didn't want to talk about it and pressing her wouldn't help matters. She could clam up faster than he could blink. So he let it drop for the time being.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Wait, wait, wait…you—you, you right here, this you—were a _traveling clown_?"

Ash stared at him with beady, suspicious eyes.

"I knew it. I knew something was off about you. And that's the cake. That is the entire weird fucking cake. You can have it. Take it, really. Go on."

"What's wrong with clowns?" He laughed.

"I don't like clowns. I know that much about myself."

"What? Everyone loves clowns!"

"Clowns are fucking creepy, Allen. I don't remember much, but I remember clowns creep me out. I blame…what's-his-face? Stephen King."

She made a show of shuddering and even leaned away from him on the couch until she fell over on the other side. Her tail curled up over her.

"Oh, I'm not creepy, am I?" He teased, leaning over to poke at her side. She wiggled away and brandished a fist in his direction.

"You put on _any_ makeup or a big red nose or whatever else they wear, _whatsoever_ , I will clock you, I _swear_ I will. And I will _not_ feel bad about it."

He motioned a mock surrender with his hands. "Truce, truce, I promise not to dress like a clown around you. Not on purpose. It's not as though I have anyone to perform for, either. I don't think the Solarii or the Oni are big fans of circus performers."

"I honestly didn't peg you for a circus brat. I really didn't, pinkie swear, I didn't."

"I would never have pegged you as an adrenaline junkie, and yet…here we are." He opened his arms up into a shrug. She was still eyeing him like he was about to, well, wipe on some of his old makeup and scare her.

He was almost tempted by the idea.

Then again, she hit hard and she hit fast.

But the real question is if it would be worth it.

After weighing his options…probably not. Too much work, not enough pay off.

She was probably the type to hit first and then scream and run away later, too. If she did such things. He could actually kind of picture it now.

"I am _not_ an adrenaline junkie," she finally stated, breaking through his thoughts. She was pouting at him, her arms crossed over her chest in a defiant manner.

"Yes you are—how many times have I had to come find you after you've jumped off yet another cliff, whooping and hollering away, only to find you've done something horrible to your legs or arms and can't put yourself back together again?"

"That was _one time_ —"

"—twelve—"

"—oh really, twelve?"

"Yes, really! A dozen times, I've had to peel you off the ground and relocate one or both of your arms back into their sockets, or-or your legs and…I'm-I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

"Think on your answer and then get back to me," she said, a tight smile on her lips.

"I'm…going to go with no."

"Good."

"I still say you're an adrenaline junkie."

"Then you're a creepy clown boy."

"I'm not creepy, but I was a clown boy."

"Right, just like you _definitely_ don't cheat at cards."

"I _never_ cheat at cards. We've already established that."

"Oh, really? Put your money where your mouth is, then."

"Do you really want to challenge me?" He leaned a little closer, letting his grin spread just a smidgeon. She tipped her chin back in defiance, regarding him coolly.

"Yep."

"Oh, and I suppose, there's going to be something to _actually_ wager, other than you simply getting your pride handed to you on a sil—on a platter?"

She snorted at his near-slip up on the word 'silver' but nonetheless, she held her ground rather admirably.

"What the hell would I have to wager?"

"Mm…" he thought for a moment. "Your bow?"

"Sorry, that's custom made for me and me only. Just like yours. Next!"

He thought and in all honesty, he couldn't think of—wait. He had it.

"You quit haranguing me while we're at our range."

"Nope! You still suck and need instruction. Next!"

…he forgot she wasn't easily swayed on bets. Allen frowned, actually beginning to feel himself lose steam.

"And no strip poker," Ash added.

"I would never with a woman," he countered, looking somewhat offended. Grown men, he'd gladly strip to their underwear, if only to teach them a valuable lesson in not underestimating him. Women, he would do no such thing to. He had some manner of decorum, thank you very much.

"You were thinking about it, I know you were."

She smirked fully at him and seeing it just made him want to wipe it off her face, just for once, and without pissing her off to do it—

"How about a kiss?"

"…you did not just propose that."

"Why not? You won't have much to lose, nothing that would truly have you lose face, so to speak. What can you lose in betting something like that?"

Ash narrowed her mismatched eyes at him. "Fine. Deal. A kiss, if you win. If I win…you lead the next hunt without me. On a full grown, healthy bull Trike."

He stared at her, taken aback and astonished at such a proposition.

A full grown Triceratops…? He didn't think he was quite ready for one of those yet. They were big and aggressive and he would have to get too close for comfort to lay a good hit on one. And a good hit meant through the eye, to the brain, for instantaneous death. Trikes required a delicate and accurate sleight of hand, they weren't easy to kill. That was why she always led the hunts against such kinds of prey. Hitting a Trike's sides with an arrow was like poking a cow with toothpicks; they wouldn't go deep enough for heart or lung strikes like with deer. She knew this. She knew that he knew this.

Even with the raptor pack backing him, it would be notoriously difficult. Not to mention…if he did manage to bring one down, she'd get off his back at the range. Perhaps he could throw just one card game, if it meant an even bigger victory in the end.

He offered his hand to her. "Deal."

She smirked again at him and snatched up his hand in her own. "Shiny. Get the cards."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Fire in the Blood

**Chapter Eighteen:  
Fire in the Blood**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back  
The less I give the more I get back  
Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise  
I don't have a choice but I'd still choose you  
_ **-"** _ **Poison and Wine**_ **" by The Civil Wars**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Losing…just wasn't in him. He couldn't _not_ _win_. Old habits and muscle memory had him picking the winning cards before he even realized he was doing it. The sleight of hand, misdirection, the quick cut of the deck—it was all second nature to him. Ash was left trembling in silent, seething rage as she drew yet another crappy hand. Really, she was fantastic at keeping her emotions masked on hunts, against enemy parties of any and all sizes, and generally, just…everything else that wasn't poker. She had a terrible poker face for, ironically, poker itself.

She sucked, quite simply put, worse than he did at archery. He could quite honestly say that, being as skilled as he was. It was just so fantastic that he was better than her at _something_. Poker was his one triumph over her and his alone. And yet, he was supposed to be losing, which was the irony in all of this. He wanted to prove he was capable of hunting well enough on his own without her overlooking his every move. He's done it before, but against a larger prey animal, it would boost his credence with her. Maybe then she'd ease up on him at the range during practice hours and—

He pursed his lips at the cards in his hands. She was resting her chin atop her fist, her elbow on the table, eyes boring into him from across the table. She was losing. And he was winning.

Why hadn't he suggested the hunt for himself and her the kiss? Why couldn't Ash, for just once, fall neatly into the vague category of clichéd expectations? How in the hell did that get all twisted up, he wondered. He thought most women wanted to be kissed…then again, Ash wasn't like most women. She wasn't a hopeless romantic, nor was she the damsel in distress type, waiting to be rescued. No, she was more like the knight on horseback, charging head on to fight the dragon attacking the castle.

She's the one who normally does the rescuing. It was hardly ever the other way around…

"What? Another winning hand? Again?" She drawled, her tone clipped and annoyed.

He sighed, laying out the cards out on the table. Somehow, victory just didn't taste as sweet this time around. "Yes."

She threw her own cards into the air without fanfare. They fell without ceremony. One even smacked her upside the head with its sharp corner, but she paid it no mind.

"Well, that's game. I fucking suck. _You_ are not even _trying_ ," she complained.

"I actually wanted you to win, for once. I was hoping for the hunt."

"Yeah, so not going to happen now."

He frowned at her, wilting. "Will it ever?"

"What, anytime soon? Probably not."

"I did just fine when I had to hunt while you were out of commission!"

"You hunted _small_ things just fine, but you currently don't have the skill to cut it when it comes to hunting a full grown, healthy bull Trike. You just don't. You have other strengths, don't get me wrong. But archery at the fine-tuned, fast-paced coordination and level I work at? You don't have it yet."

He pushed himself from the table, shuffling the cards together into the deck. He stooped to pick up the cards Ash had so unceremoniously scattered on the ground as well.

"Thank you so much for instilling such confidence into me. Really, it's inspiring."

"Allen…"

"I hunted just fine; I did, I know I did! And you-you…" He straightened, scowling down at her. Her gaze softened as she regarded him quietly, unflinching in the wake of his unceremonious snapping. Slowly, she stood, her gaze briefly cast aside to look at the cards on the floor and table.

"Yes, you did. You did great hunting for small prey. But hunting a bull isn't easy, even for someone like me. It's not sensible either. Not in a lot of ways. It's pretty dangerous and I don't like using the pack against healthy members of the herd. I could easily lose half of them by attempting to take a full grown bull Trike down. A lot of things could go wrong. I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of some mishap, either."

He stopped short when she stepped up to him, hands gently laid on his chest to calm him. The soothing heat from her palms was enough to give him pause. Her words helped some, too.

"Maybe one day, you'll be up there in skill to do just that. But today, tomorrow, next week…they ain't your days. I had a few hundred years to practice and get good at what I do. You've only had four. Just…take it easy. You'll get there. You'll see."

Allen felt his earlier frustrations drain in an instant. He considered her words, eventually realizing she was right. He nodded a few times.

"Then I intend to do just that, before I leave."

"If…that's what you want. But you have to get better with practice. You hold back a lot and it's screwing you up."

He gave her a pointed look, but she only smirked at him.

"Those drills you ran…during the bet the other day. Do you think we could try those again? It was different from how we usually run our course on the range."

She blinked before smiling. It was easier going than her sly smirk. "I don't see why not."

He beamed back. "Great!"

That thrilled him long enough to distract him from the fact that he had won and hadn't really gotten anything out of it. Nothing of monetary value. No upcoming hunt. Not even a kiss.

 _Not that I wanted one in the first place,_ he amended later that night as he bedded down, thinking about lost rewards. _It was a joke prize._

It didn't make him feeling any less disappointed that for once he didn't get to walk away with a prize at the end of a winning hand.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He jerked awake at the fit of half-formed screams from the other chamber. He settled, realizing it was simply Ash, and then felt guilty moments later after the fact.

He's known about her nightmares for quite a while, but he also knew even without her telling him, that she'd kick his ass if he ever openly acknowledged them. He's only ever admitted to knowing about them to her once, and she had luckily been too distracted to consider that fact. He doubted she remembered.

Ash didn't react well when it came to comfort, whether she was giving it or receiving it. Not in the way familiar with people, anyways. That, and one of the raptors would normally chase him away if he tried to come near. There was usually always one and he had to wonder if she had that system worked out as having them for her own brand of comfort. He learned after the first few times to grudgingly leave things be, to pretend to not notice, as much as it pained him to do so.

Allen was nearly lulled to sleep by a longer stint of silence, but he jerked back awake at the next howl she made. Where were the raptors? He was sure one of them was staying the night. He could have sworn it was Carver he saw earlier, but…no. No, that was a few nights before, now that he thought about it. Some days, the raptors were completely gone, but she slept just fine.

More often than not, though…

Allen slid off his bed and padded quickly out of his room, pausing often as he slowly approached Ash's room across the way. For a long, stressful moment, there was nothing but silence.

Maybe she'd fallen back asleep. He hesitated, teetering on the choice between staying a little longer and heading back when he heard sobbing.

"Stop…stop, please, stop it…"

Allen pushed the curtain back and was pulled back into the shadows of another room. He could already tell it was empty of any raptors. He wasn't being driven away. Ash was curled into a tight ball on her bed, tangled in her sheets and shaking. She kept muttering the same thing, begging, pleading. She sounded so…so broken.

Ash didn't sound like herself at all.

She sounded scared, lost, and hurt.

He reached out for her and learned that this was a mistake, first and foremost. Second, she apparently slept armed. Of course. Why would he have expected anything less of her? She may not have the ability to turn her fingers into blades, but she could whip one seemingly out of nowhere just as quickly.

She was out of bed as quick as a wink with a desperate roar, had him pressed to a wall, her arm braced to his chest to keep him pinned, a knife to his throat. Heat radiated off of her until it was almost unbearable and he thought, for one utterly terrifying second, that he was burning alive. _She's killing me, she's trying to burn me—!_

That realization came to pass when he felt no flames licking at him and he was not burning. It was simply just Ash and she radiated pure heat, bordering on igniting. She had no worries. She was fireproof. He was not so confident at remaining intact if he couldn't get her to calm down.

"Ash—it's me. It's Allen."

Gingerly, he reached up and prodded at her arm braced against him and he could feel just how hot she was to the touch. He had to pull away eventually; his naked hand was beginning to tingle unpleasantly from the sensation. There was an inferno just waiting beneath the surface, begging for release, he could sense it.

Strained moments passed between them. She was breathing heavily, like she'd just run a marathon. He felt her shudder and the knife was suddenly gone and so was the crushing weight on his chest.

"What're you doing here?"

Her voice was so quiet, he could barely hear her.

"I—you were having a nightmare," he started. "I thought you kept one of the raptors with you for this."

"They're out," she simply said. He could sense her stare on him. There were some forms of darkness he just couldn't see through, training or no. He could just barely make out her shape, a shadow hiding against the shadows. He knew that she had no such qualms. She had perfect night vision. Her eyes were better equipped for the darkness than his ever would.

"Clearly," he replied dryly, straightening and dropping his hand from his neck. "Are you…all right?"

"Peachy. You should go."

"Ash—"

"No, just…just go. I don't need any coddling."

"How is my showing concern for you 'coddling'?" He huffed back. It was understandable she didn't like seeking comfort. That was fine. It wasn't that she lashed out at him in an attempt to ward him away from the more sensitive parts of her. Every time he showed concern regarding her well-being, she did this. She was so neglectful of herself sometimes. "Maybe if you talked about it, instead of bottling it up…"

"There's nothing to talk about. I don't even remember anything. Just…go, Allen. Please."

Judging by the tone of her voice, he could already sense she was starting to shut out external conversations and he heard the squeak of the mattress as she sat down.

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"You're such a goddamned stubborn brat, you know that?" She said, and even if he couldn't see her, he knew she had a scowl on her face. He heard it in her the tone of her voice. She also sounded rather resigned. He smiled thinly.

"Takes one to know one."

"There's the stupid."

He scowled and stuck his tongue out at her.

"I can see that."

"I know. That's why I did it."

He groped for the bed and nearly recoiled when he accidentally touched leg instead. A hand struck at his wrist, quick as lightning, and yanked him over. He collided with the mattress in an ungraceful heap.

"Stop trying to cop a feel. Jesus…"

"It was an accident."

"Mmm-hmm." She replied flatly. He had barely sat himself down when she pressed flush up against him, and the blazing heat she had conjured earlier was no more. It was, once again, the strangely soothing balm she normally retained.

Light flickered into being. He glanced over to see a candle on her dresser had been lit. He looked back at Ash and saw that she was pale in the light.

"You're so blind in the dark. I'd let you bumble around some more if I was in the mood."

"So glad you're not," he griped back, although he didn't have the heart to sound sincerely upset. "What happened?"

"I told you, I don't remember."

"You were begging someone to stop doing something."

"Maybe it was a premonition of me begging you to stop inducting this pointless interrogation. Or it was the Spanish Inquisition that nobody saw coming. Not even the Spaniards."

He fell quiet. "I'm sorry I'm not much help. I'm trying, though."

She sighed. "I know. I just…don't like talking about something I can't even remember, even if it gets me rattled."

"You know you don't have to face it alone, right? I'm just across the way. I can't get in your head and even if you don't remember, I'd rather be an option for help."

She sat up straight and pulled away and with it, her immediate heat was gone as she stared up at him as she sarcastically intoned, "And what, I crawl into bed with you or something?"

That wasn't what he meant, actually. He meant to say if she wanted to talk and wasn't ready to face sleep again, he was available. If she wanted to just sit up with him, even, he was fine with that too. They didn't even have to talk. He'd gladly oblige in that as well.

Oddly, he didn't say all that. Instead, he was more surprised when he simply replied softly, "If you'd like."

She studied his face, like she was trying to detect the joke or the lie, and when she found none, she leaned back on him, this time wrapping her arm around his, her hand seeking his out. He let her fingers steeple together with his.

"Please don't go just yet."

He rested his head on top of hers. "I'll stay, if that's what you want."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

It was well into the morning when he woke up. Or he assumed it was. He was always an early riser.

The air lacked its usual cooked meats smell, or even the hint of coffee Ash brewed every once in a while. He blinked groggily, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes. Everything was deliciously warm and he wasn't quite ready to face the day just yet, not when he was perfectly comfortable, especially with Ash curled in his arms—

Allen froze.

The pieces quickly put themselves into place.

They'd fallen asleep.

That was roughly about the extent of it after Ash had woken from nightmares, and there had been no raptors to comfort her. She didn't want him to go and he had agreed to stay. He closed his eyes again, trying to memorize the curve of her body against his, the sound of her calm breaths as she slept, the way she gripped his arm against her like it was a lifeline…

It was almost a shame when she stirred after a while and he would be lying if he would be remiss to admit that the moment had ended. He didn't know how long he'd lain there, awake and actually enjoying the feel of another body pressed against him.

"How long were you awake?"

He peeped his eyes open at the quiet inquiry and sighed. Nothing ever seemed to get past her ears.

"A while," he admitted. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Mmm. I kind of don't want to get up. I…kind of like this."

He was glad she couldn't see his face, that she was facing away from him. He felt a blush creep up his neck and burn his cheeks when he realized he enjoyed this quite a bit himself.

"We don't have to get up just yet, if you don't want to."

"Do you want to get up?"

"…not really."

As though sensing that was a sort of permission granted, she twisted in his arms until she faced him, sighing as she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

"Five more minutes, then…" she mumbled. He froze for only a split second, hesitating to reposition his arms back around her. Slowly, they eventually came down and he closed his eyes, reveling in the moment.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"I honestly never thought I'd meet someone who could eat more than I could."

Ash blinked at him, a rueful smile slowly pulling at her lips.

"I double as a werewolf and a pyrokinetic. I'm burning through the food I ate already just from sitting here. And I'm going to be hungry again in a few hours."

Allen stared in dismay back.

"I'm always hungry, in short."

"That…sounds pretty familiar, actually." He said, looking at his left hand. "I've told you bits and pieces about Innocence, right?"

"A little," Ash said, bobbing her head. "And that-that name…whoever came up with that name should either be shot or given an award, I can't decide yet. I can come up with about a dozen jokes on that name already. And the list keeps growing."

He scowled at her, although it was half-hearted when she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. He sighed and returned his attention to his hand, and with barely a thought, invoked it. Sharp blades gleamed in the glow of the firelight.

"There were two types of accommodators for Innocence—well, three, actually. Parasite-types, equipment-types, and the newest one is—was…crystal-types." He motioned to his left hand. "I'm sure you can already guess that I'm a parasite-type."

"Obviously," she quipped back, eyeing the blades with a fascinated shine in her eyes. "I'm also going to guess that is why you also have an appetite that would put most werewolves to shame."

He didn't bother to hide his amused grin from her.

"'Most'?"

"I told you before, I double down on the food because it's coupled with my pyrokinetic…mutation. I probably ate a lot before the lycanthropy factor got added in." She sighed and fell onto her back and laid there on the ground. "I miss pizza."

"Pizza?"

"A wonderful, deliciously greasy delight that is so _bad_ for you but tastes so damned good that you just can't help but not give a fuck if it clogs up your arteries and makes you die a slow, but totally-worth it death. Death by cheesy deliciousness."

"I miss Jerry's cooking. He could make anything. He could probably even make you pizza." Allen sighed. "I miss mitarashi dango."

"Tiramisu."

Allen laughed. "Doesn't that have rum in it?"

"The alcohol in the rum's cooked out and leaves the taste behind, but it mixes well with the chocolate powder and dark roasted coffee and the delicate cream when it's done right. Mmmmm." Ash laughed softly and rolled to her stomach. "I can almost taste it."

Allen smiled. "I might pass on it all the same."

"I'm still a-go for that you-know-what operation."

"Please don't."

Ash snickered and tapped her head. "All in the head already. I got it all up here."

He groaned. "You're not going to drop it, are you?"

"Nope!"

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The island was being plagued by a heavy, thick blanket of fog and mist. It's lingered for nearly the entire day. They had to move carefully; one wrong step could have either of them slipping off a precipice and into open air. They were safe for the moment, but it could change in a split second. For now, Allen kept close on Ash's heels, stopping when she stopped, stepping where she stepped, following her silent cues and hand signals. He normally did as such under normal circumstances regardless, but they needed to be especially alert now.

The Oni were out in force and silence was key. They had come across a Carnotaurus' corpse earlier. It had been butchered to death by all manner of weaponry and surrounded by all manner of Oni bodies. It had died fighting, or as Ash said in passing, "He went out with his boots on."

Allen had no idea what that really meant, since dinosaurs didn't wear boots, and Ash wouldn't explain it.

"Meat's no good, either. Too far gone," she declared after examining the body with a wrinkled nose. "Meat's been putrefying. Must've been here at least a day or so, and there's evidence of scavenging here and there, but…it's strange. You'd at least expect more predation on a prime piece of flesh like this and it's just sitting out here, barely touched…"

Just as she was straightening to stand, she froze in place. He paused as well, listening. Ash's ears swiveled atop her head, honing in on whatever noise he had yet to pick up. When he finally began to hear it, she stood, grabbing her bow.

"Solarii are coming with a squad of Oni on their heels. Time to go."

He followed after her, but she was soon pulling ahead, able to weave through the mist and its hidden objects with greater ease than him. He pushed forward, intent on catching up. Behind him, he could hear the Solarii's voices coming into hearing range. They were screaming. Shouting. Crying. That made him stop in his tracks as he listened as a sudden thought struck him: He couldn't leave them behind.

They were begging for help that they believed wasn't coming, but they begged all the same.

He didn't hesitate as he doubled back on what he hoped was the right way back to where he'd come from.

Allen wasn't surprised when Ash eventually started calling for him. She could come find him. He wasn't going to allow himself to stand idly by while the Solarii were being slaughtered.

Without Mathias, they were little more than a group of ill-managed thugs who had no direction. Without the Russians, the right-hand men of Mathias like Nikolai, boosting their violent ways even more, it might be possible that they could be persuaded for less brutish ways of living on the island. Maybe all they needed was the head of their snake cut down and then they'd see that he and Ash weren't really the enemy. They could all work together, perhaps, to get off the island. Condemning them so utterly and completely the way Ash has done—he found he didn't quite have it in him. Not like her.

The mist wasn't clearing up, but he could recognize the swirling stink of old meat and fresh blood. He stumbled upon the first body, quite literally and came to a crashing halt in front of another. Allen quickly picked himself up. He recognized the bodies of the Oni, the old Carnie, and additional new bodies of the Solarii.

He held still, eyes sweeping over the forested area. He caught glimpses of movement, pale ghosts flitting through the mist. They were there one moment, and then gone the very next. It was unnerving, and he was expecting an arrow to hit him in his back, or worse, a sword. Nothing came so far, but it was a far cry from comfort.

Movement caught his eye again and he jerked towards it, seeing it was one of the Solarii brothers lying against a tree. The man had been struck in the gut with four arrows. He coughed, eyes peeping open as Allen approached.

"Kill me…before the Oni get to me first," he wheezed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not killing you. I'm going to get you out of here." Allen remarked sharply, moving to grab the man's arm. He didn't resist as Allen wrapped his arm around the broad man's shoulders.

"Why? You and that bitch never seemed to mind before."

"I've _never_ killed any of you. And don't call her that, her name is Ash. And Ash, she…she…" He couldn't finish his sentence. The man wheezed out a wet laugh, red staining his lips.

"That Fire Walker bitch is going to be the death of you too, one day. Just you wait—"

An arrow slammed into the Solarii brother's skull, cutting his words short. Allen startled, the weight of the Solarii thrown asunder. He collapsed away from Allen's hold on him. He leapt back with his heart in his throat, whirling on his heel just as something smashed into his head with an audible crack.

Everything went dark.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He woke with the rotted stench of decay and blood coating the back of his throat. Moments after his awakening, he gagged and nearly choked when something wet trickled down the back of his throat and he tasted copper. His nose throbbed painfully. Allen looked around and saw that he was dangling from a ceiling support beam, it looked like, while his hands were bound tightly and hanging from a giant hook wedged in the wood. When he looked down, he really wished he hadn't. Mountains of corpses littered the floor below. He was in some kind of storage room, and it was huge. The walls were stained red and swarms of flies hovered over various stages of decomposing bodies. It was too overwhelming; his eyes were beginning to water and sting. His stomach twisted on itself and he had to use all his willpower to not throw up on himself.

 _Got to get out of here,_ he thought as he tried to think of a way. At the angle his hands were at, he wouldn't be able to invoke Crown Clown and simply cut off the ropes. _Wait…but that hook…_

It looked loose.

He started swinging his legs until he could brace them against the support beam. The moment he was, he started pulling, tugging, yanking hard until quite suddenly, the hook popped free and he was airborne, weightless.

That quickly came to an end as he slammed into the hard ground below. His vision swam but it cleared soon enough. He jerked at a hand grabbing his shoulder and he reacted on instinct, invoking his Innocence with a battle cry on his lips, ripping his bonds free.

A familiar blade met with his hand and he stopped short of following up a counterattack when he recognized the sight of mismatched eyes staring back at him.

"Did you just seriously yell ' _Crown Clown_ ' at me or am I finally, truly and legitimately insane now?"

"Ash!"

Allen almost reached to hug her after returning his hand to normal, but stopped midway. She held up a hand to stop him.

"Can we do this later? We need to get out of here. And why the hell didn't you follow me earlier?"

She jerked her head over her shoulder, signaling him to do just that: follow her. He covered his mouth, careful to avoid his nose for the time being as she led him to a small crack in the wall between piles of bodies. There were pieces of gore and viscera here as well. His stomach roiled in severe protest at the sight. He tried to breathe through his mouth, but it didn't help much.

"Where are we?"

"The monastery. Worse place to be, because it is _the_ fucking hot-spot nest of all Oni on this island." She crouched and he followed her lead. He noticed she was keeping especial care to have her tail remain aloft, not letting it touch the ground if she could help it. "You still haven't answered my question. Why did you go back?"

"I…I couldn't leave them to get slaughtered. They were begging for help. Ash, without Mathias or anyone else instigating them to kill anyone and everything, the Solarii might be approachable now. Have you ever tried that before?"

"Allen."

"I'm serious, Ash, just think of the possibilities; you wouldn't have to kill or scare them off any longer. They could become our allies, and we might be able to work together, to get you all off this island!"

As they cleared the tunnel and found themselves outside, Allen stood straighter as he regarded the smaller woman before him.

"Haven't you ever tried that before? Truly tried?"

"Yes! All right? I have!" She snapped and glowered at him. He clacked his jaw shut in surprise. She exhaled loudly and at length, glaring at the ground. "I _have_ tried that. I managed to get a truce. It happened _once_. And it actually worked. For all the fucking bloodshed, pain, and misery we've caused each other, I managed a truce, but it was a one-time thing. You wanna know what happened? Himiko came back. When she did, the entire island did its reset thing and _everything_ I worked for had vanished in an instant. The men I finally managed to work out an armistice with forgot _everything_. After that happened, it was back our regularly scheduled show, kiddies! Blood and fire and bullets went flying everywhere. And Mathias…he was back to his old crazy self, taking charge, and screaming for my death, even if I couldn't exactly oblige."

She kept him pinned under that heavy, weary gaze.

"And you were a fool to go back. A goddamned self-righteous, goody-two-shoes, pain-in-the-ass, stubborn idiot of a fool to go back. The Oni can't be reasoned with, whereas, only sometimes, the Solarii can be. You were lucky, so goddamned _lucky_ , they took you prisoner alive, because I…I wasn't even sure if I'd find you breathing when I came here. I smelled your blood and I…"

She dropped her gaze and closed her eyes. Ash took a breath, steadying herself. "You know what? We can do this sentimental shit later. We need to go and we need to go now, before the Oni realize you're gone."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Allen winced at the clothe wiping over his face, however gentle a motion it was. Ash wouldn't meet his eyes as she dipped it back into the basin of water, wringing it of blood.

"I could stay mad," she said, although her tone was anything but. "A part of me wants to. But I'm not going to. It isn't fair to you. I've given up being mad about how you react to situations like that. It's like you're programmed to just…jump in and try to save everyone."

"With the exception of the Solarii, you seem to have the same tendencies."

"I don't suffer from a chronic case of it. I deal out that kind of crazy in small doses. You chug the entire medicine cabinet and ask for more."

Now he could hear the annoyance masked by her unusually calm demeanor. She was frowning as she cleaned off the last of the blood from his face and nose. She was being as careful as she could, but that didn't negate the fact that his entire face _hurt_. A constant, agonizing wave of pain throbbed right at the center of his face along his nose, and it bled out all over

"Your nose is broken."

"Is that why it still hurts so much?"

"Probably. I'm gonna have to reset it."

She raised her hands up, fingers curled and thumbs out. He leaned away, holding up a hand.

"Wait, wait, wait, are you sure you have to?"

"If you wish to breathe properly through your nose and not out your mouth for the rest of your life, then yes."

Allen groaned, but obliged and leaned forward again. Ash's hands hovered briefly in front of his face.

"I'll try to be quick. You just…try not to struggle away."

She snatched his face in her grip, striking fast as a viper, and held on tight. She thrusted her thumbs on either side of his nose and _pushed_. He felt and heard something _crack_ at the same time as a lance of pain engulfed his head, originating from his nose. Her hands were gone before he could jerk away. He took a few gulps of air in respite.

"Sorry," Ash winced in sympathy. "I know that shit hurts."

He waited, letting the pain subside until he could bear it more readily.

"At least I can breathe now," he cracked a half smile, only to drop it when something leaked from his nose. "But I seem to still be bleeding."

"Fluid buildup," Ash agreed, offering the cloth to him. "Here."

He gladly took it, pressing it as delicately as he could to his nose. "Thank you. For coming back for me."

She didn't hesitate when she said with a faint smile, "Always."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Whole Made of Pieces

**Chapter Nineteen:  
Whole Made of Pieces**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _Before you came round my heart would never beat much faster  
Before you came round I was ready to slow down  
Before you came round I was heading for a small disaster  
Before you came round I was ready to blow me down  
_ **-"** _ **Technicolor Beat**_ **" by Oh Wonder**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He awoke with his heart hammering away in his chest, gasping for air past the painful lump that was forming in his throat. He tried pushing the images out of his head, but they stuck with him, refusing to quietly fade. Allen eventually got up, needing to move around, to feel the ground beneath his feet, to feel something real and tangible.

He was more than a little shocked when he nearly stumbled over Ash outside his room. She was up against the wall, nowhere near the middle of the walkway, and curled up with her knees to her chest.

"Hey," she said quietly, without looking up at him. "Bad dreams?"

He nodded, wiping at his brow. It came away clammy and slick with sweat. "You could say that."

"I hate bad dreams." The irony wasn't lost on him. He turned and pressed his back against the wall, sliding down to sit beside her. She immediately flopped her head against his shoulder.

"You do realize," she started slowly, "that you're in nothing but boxer shorts, right?"

Oh. Right.

…there was that one thing he forgot. Then again, he hadn't been expecting to run into Ash. He started to get up.

"I should—maybe I should change—"

She laughed softly, patting his shoulder.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Ash fell quiet and for a while, they sat there, in a strangely comforting hush. He wondered what time it was.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Allen blinked, realizing he almost dozed off. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Not really, it…it was just a dream."

"Okay. If that's what you want."

She didn't press the issue, and he was grateful for it.

He didn't want to relive seeing the Oni swarming their home and bearing their weapons and turning into Akuma mid-invasion. He didn't want to say how terrifying it was to see Ash there, shot down, crumbled to dust, unable to heal. He didn't want to feel the heart-wrenching failure of not seeing them coming, even when they had been _right in front of him_. It reminded him too much of the events that had happened in Paris, when he and the others had been retrieving Timothy. That was the last mission he had gone on with any of his friends, before he ended up here. He didn't want to relive or talk about it, any of it. Even after four years, he wasn't ready to speak about it to her. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," Ash said after another stint of quietness. "I heard you thrashing and I was coming over to check…and I chickened out at the last minute. I had a feeling it was a nightmare, but…" She exhaled softly. "I'm just a shitty friend sometimes. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I'm…I'm fine. Really."

"Just fighting monsters in your head?"

How on point she was, she'd probably never really know.

"…something like that."

Ash lifted her head and he could make out her features still. The fire in the main chamber was still somewhat alive to provide just enough of a soft glow to see her. Just barely.

"Do you need anything?" She asked softly.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

She was so close, so warm. For just a moment, he forgot about the dream. It felt like bliss to not have it weighing down on his mind, to see Ash sitting there beside him, well and alive.

He didn't think as he leaned over to press his lips to hers, catching her surprised gasp midway.

She pulled away almost instantly. She didn't look happy or angry. Just confused and…worried.

Dare he even say, she even looked…afraid.

"…why would you do that?"

"I…I just…Ash, wait—"

She was up before he could answer, stalking away to disappear into her room, leaving him alone outside.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

She wasn't home when he woke up a second time that day. Her bow and other weapons were gone. So was her pack.

She could survive out there, indefinitely, if she so wished, without ever returning to this place. She could easily find another homestead, there were plenty of viable areas, probably even some he had never glimpsed. She didn't need this cave; she simply preferred staying in the one place that she could call her own. They both knew that.

"What was I thinking? Oh, that's right. I wasn't thinking, _at all_."

He debated going out after her. He debated staying in and waiting it out. He tore either side down and rebuilt them both back up. Luckily enough, he didn't have long in waiting. Ash didn't stay out for days like he had almost been expecting. She came back in the evening, hauling in supplies and fresh meat. When he hurried over to help, she barked at him that she had it.

He backed off, but followed her regardless.

"Ash, I wanted to talk about what happened and—"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Last night, I—"

"Nothing happened. You had a bad dream, we sat up a while, we went to bed."

Oh, straight up denial was the name of the game she was playing. He frowned as she sat down to start cutting the meat she'd brought in.

"I wanted to apologize. I was too straightforward and I realize that now…" His words faded when she stood suddenly, freeing her hands of all things, thankfully enough, although he resisted the urge to back away when she looked his way. Her eyes were frosty and hard as stone.

"Look. Nothing happened and that's the way it will stay. All right?"

"I _kissed_ you. I'm not sure that qualifies as 'nothing'."

Her jaw tightened up as she glared up at him. "Nothing. Happened. And it will stay that way."

She turned back to resume her work. Allen wasn't satisfied by the answer.

"Why don't you want to talk about this? Why pretend it didn't happen? You're clearly upset."

Ash stopped in her tracks, her back still to him.

"Fine. You want to talk about it? I'll answer your question with one of my own: Why would you ever think that kissing me, a goddamned _monster_ , was ever a good idea in the first place?" She peered over her shoulder at him. "Answer me that first. Then we'll move on with the conversation."

She sat back down, leaving him speechless. It didn't last long, unfortunately for her.

"I'm sorry if you felt uncomfortable with what I did. I shouldn't have done it. But I won't apologize for seeing you as another person and not as a monster. Don't you think you deserve to be seen as such?"

"You're an idiot."

"Perhaps I am," he replied, clawing through his head for more. "I can already tell you don't want me to do it again. I won't. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Ash snapped. "You probably only did it because you need an outlet or something. And unfortunately, since I'm the only woman around—if you're being honest about liking only women—I just happen to be the only choice around. It's called 'convenience'. But whatever you think you're feeling—it ends now. It's a matter of that same convenience and lack of diversity that's messing with you. When you leave this place, you'll find someone more suited to your tastes or type or whatever, because trust me, I ain't it."

"That isn't why I did it. I did it because I…I like you."

He was just as surprised by the admission as she was. And he had been the one to say it.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "You did not just say—oh, god damn—you didn't say that, _you did_ _not_ _just_ _say_ _that_."

Ash stood back up, looking ready to reproach him again. She held her hands out toward him and he could see they were shaking.

"You…whatever it is you think you're feeling…just stop. Right now. Because it can't go anywhere. I've told you before, I'm…I'm just not made for that lifestyle. I'm a monster—a _very_ long-lived one with ironically fatal memory issues and I'm going to forget everything over time. It's not an 'if' or 'maybe' or 'possibly going to happen' thing, it's a _guaranteed_ _thing_. And even if I wanted to have something, I can't. _Not_ with that shit hovering over my head, just waiting to snatch away anything that might come out of it, good or bad. I'm going to forget and…and I can't stop it. I don't want to forget, I don't want to-to forget you, I don't. Believe me, I fucking _don't_. But it's going to happen regardless of what I want."

Her hands were balled up at her sides and shaking, like she wanted to hit something. He wasn't sure if it was because she was angry at him or at what had happened, or if it was over something else. She actually looked ready to cry, although she was doing all she could to hold the tears back. He wanted to backpedal the moment he heard the crack in her voice. He hadn't wanted to make her cry, but pretending nothing happened wasn't going to accomplish anything.

"What do you want?"

She blinked, and the first tear fell loose, trailing down her cheek.

"I don't want to ruin what works with us. And I don't want to forget. I just…I want to remember things. This island has taken too much shit from me enough as it is. The least it can do is leave my fucking head alone."

Ash stiffened when he reached up then, wiping away the tear. "Maybe I can help figure something out, so you do remember?"

She gaped at him, briefly speechless. "It doesn't work like that," she finally said.

"Then we'll just have to find something that does."

He let his hand linger, cupping her face. She didn't pull away from the touch. Instead, she reached up, resting her hand on his and closed her eyes, taking a measured breath.

"Don't keep promises you can't keep, Allen."

Gradually, she pulled his hand away, turned on her heel and sat right back down to finish working.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He noticed the change in the way she reacted and interacted with him almost instantly in the coming days. The lacking in contact was palpable and it left a frozen, coiled lump in the pit of his stomach when she would go out of her way to avoid him. She was distancing herself, really; trying to return to her old habits that ordained a sense of detachment between them. Just enough to keep them apart, but still close enough that they could work together like before.

He was having difficulties maintaining the same standard she seemed to have already achieved. He was used to the familiar and calming warmth she presented when she was near. He had grown accustomed to her sitting beside him, sometimes even going so far as to hold his hand or lean on him. He often had to catch himself from reaching out to her. Weeks passed like this and the tension was tangible and strained. She had been opening up. Getting close. He missed that sorely because it had taken so long for her to get to that point and it had taken only a split second to shatter it all to pieces.

Everything was just business in her books now.

It would have been better for him if he could simply switch things like that himself. It was almost like she had forgotten anything and everything between them, that she was pushing it away in lieu of…well, not what it used to be between them.

But he caught her slipping too from time to time.

He'd catch her reaching back sometimes, whether it was for his hand or to pat his shoulder. Every time she did and he saw it, he'd feel his breath hitch, waiting for something that never came.

He could understand her reasons, respect them, even. She was afraid of delving into unknown territory that would most likely, eventually, erode with time. It'd be something she'd forget and what terrified her the most was that she knew it was coming. But the tension was beginning to wear on him, pulling his nerves tighter and tighter still.

"I wonder how long the rains will last this time."

Allen pulled himself from his thoughts, looking up. They had taken refuge in one of the old war bunkers, sheltered from the lashing rains of yet another storm. The fire was going strong. For now.

An old gun, huge and long dead, rested on its swivel, its barrel sticking well out of the slit that opened up to the seas beyond. Fleetingly, it reminded him of a level one Akuma's gun barrel and he shivered. Ash was sitting next to it on the lip of the bunker slit, looking out as the rains danced across the sea below, and upsetting the waters that had been mostly calm earlier that day. The skies were gunmetal grey for now, but they were beginning to grow darker.

Night was coming.

"Hopefully by morning, they'll stop," he answered her. She made a soft humming noise in return. Even by the fire, he could feel the wind winding its way inside through cracks in the bunker's armour, cold tendrils that tugged at his clothing, determined to chill him further.

"We can move in deeper, if you'd like. This spot's a little exposed."

"We've already got the fire going."

"I can make another."

"I'm fine."

She didn't recoil at his irritable tone, although he regretted it almost immediately. She watched him with that impassive mask of hers in place. Ash turned her eyes away after some time, back out toward the grey sea.

"If you say so."

She went quiet and remained that way for a while. He felt the strain between them tugging at him again. After some debate, he said, "Um…actually…maybe we should move. We could get attacked, if we stay here."

By the Oni, by the Solarii, by some nimble-footed dinosaur that could hopscotch its way across the cliffs to get to them. It went left unsaid, but it was implied and that was enough for her. When she returned to look at him, she pursed her lips, glanced at the fire and it was out in a wink, barely a hiss of smoke left over. Ash picked herself up and strode over, collecting the bundle of firewood they had gathered. The ones in the makeshift pit were cold to the touch, not even a hint of embers left over or even a glowing spark inside the wood. The blackened ends smeared charcoal over her clothes, but she didn't seem to care a wit. He gathered the packs and their bows while she waited.

Their new spot was a little harder to get to, but it was better protected from the winds and the cold, at least. The air was still chilly, although that soon faded after Ash got the fire going again. It warmed up quicker, to say the least, without all the heat being blown away.

Allen rubbed his hands together and held them over the fire, the coldness fading as warmth seeped in.

"We didn't bring enough food for this delay, did we?"

Without a word, Ash dragged her pack over and rooted around it before yanking a few parcels wrapped in varying animal hides out. She tossed them his way. He picked one of them up, recognized the particular way it was wrapped and met her expectant gaze.

"Ash, I couldn't—"

"You can and you will. I can go longer without a little bit of food than you. I'll be fine. Just eat."

He stared at her, torn between feeling grateful and annoyed.

"Even when you're trying to act cold, you somehow find a way to be kind. I wish you'd choose one or the other."

Ash blinked, her jaw not quite tightening, but it wasn't relaxed either.

"I'm not being cold."

"You're close enough to it. You've been like this since the night after I kissed you."

"Don't."

It was a simple word, quietly spoken and with little emphasis, but it sounded like a gunshot in his ears. Another ' _don't_ ' meant to not talk about it. To forget it existed, to forget it ever happened.

She eventually would.

He wouldn't ever be able to.

"I _can't_. I'm not going to be able to _forget_ like you, Ash. I can't just go back to that routine where I have no idea what to say or do that won't set you off, or won't get a reaction at all, even."

"You are trying to pry open a door that can't be closed once it _is_ opened."

There was a flash of anger that danced across her face. It was short-lived, but it was there. She pushed herself to her feet, her pawed feet scraping noisily across the concrete as they raked across it. She started back toward the way they had come, but he was already scrambling to his feet, trotting after her.

"Why don't you want to talk about this?"

"Because there's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is," he insisted, rounding himself into her path. She stopped short of colliding into him, leaning away when he reached for her. "You're afraid to feel something, _anything_ , for anyone beyond what you present on the surface to them. That's why you make sure everyone who lands here feels as unwelcome as possible, and you include yourself in that equation. To make them not want to stay, to make them want to leave, and that way, they'll never grow attached to you."

"You got me in a box here. Great detective work there, Sherlock. Got anything else to add to the case?"

She was glaring at him in a rather painfully earnest manner. That was the most he'd gotten out of her in weeks.

"You're afraid to forget, so you don't grow attached or give your trust to anyone. You're afraid to do that with me. But the problem is, you already have. You wouldn't have risked your life to save mine on multiple occasions if that weren't the case."

"I 'risk' my life doing a lot of things. Not just saving people. I apparently go cliff-jumping for _fun_ , remember?"

"You didn't know if the Oni had killed me or not weeks ago. You could have left me behind. You came anyway, either to collect me alive or dead. Would you have done that for anyone else? Have you ever done it for anyone else?"

She didn't answer. Ash looked appropriately staggered at his inquiry. She averted her eyes, trying to keep from looking at him and lurched to go around him.

"I'll be back in the morning."

Allen turned to intercept. For a moment, he thought she was going to strike back and he was prepared for that. Instead she tried to jerk away and broke free, stunned.

"Please stop running and _talk_ to me. If not about this, then about our friendship and where it stands. I see you these days and you're trying to put back on pieces of a mask that you threw away a long time ago, and all I want is the friend back that would read from that awful joke book and sincerely laugh at it. I want the friend back who went climbing in sea caves for treasures. I want the friend back who taught me to shoot a bow and arrow and how to communicate with the raptors and the rexes successfully without looking like a complete idiot while doing so." He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"I just want my _friend_ back."

She grew tense as he spoke and for one horrible moment, he thought she was going to bolt and he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

She took a step forward. He thought his eyes had been playing tricks on him at first, but she took another toward him. The distance between them was small, but it might as well have been a great chasm. All at once, an eternity passed within only a few seconds and he was suddenly being gripped hard in a tight embrace, Ash's head pressed against his chest.

"I don't want to forget you. I don't. I don't, I don't, _I don't_."

She kept repeating those words, over and over again until it was a senseless babble mumbled into his shirt. Slowly, Allen encircled his arms around her, still wary that she might try to yank herself away and make a dash for it. He was surprised when she started sobbing after he did and he held her all the tighter for it.

After some time, she fell quiet. In between that and when she had begun crying, they somehow found their way on the ground, sitting in front of the fire. For a long time after all that, he felt he needed to say something. Anything. He was afraid to break what tenuous truce they had come to, however. Afraid that either she'd do it or he would end up doing it.

"I do care, you know."

He startled out of his stupor. He had nearly been lulled to sleep.

The arms around him squeezed slightly, reminding him that Ash was still bundled in his arms, her head on his chest, her body pressed to his side.

"You're the only person I care about on this stupid island. I don't want to lose that," she said, her voice nearly inaudible.

He waited, hoping for more, but she didn't say anything else. Her comment alone, however, had been strangely enough. An admission that was finally confirmed aloud instead of through actions. Time seemed to crawl by after that. Slowly, he came to realize she'd fallen asleep.

He stayed up after he unrolled her bedding from her pack, even though he felt exhausted himself.

She's stayed up too many times when they were out overnight on the island, taking up hours that should have been his shifts and burdened herself with the watch. Letting him catch some sleep and earn his rest. He thought of the other small ways she's shown she's cared, if not in words like she had just admitted, then through actions. For Ash, actions were louder than any spoken word.

Letting her sleep for once was the least he could do to show his appreciation.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	20. Chapter Twenty: Burn With Me

**Chapter Twenty:  
Burn With Me**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _Now I see fire  
Inside the mountain  
I see fire  
Burning the trees  
And I see fire  
Hollowing souls  
I see fire  
Blood in the breeze  
And I hope that you remember me  
_ **-"I See Fire" by Ed Shereen**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Himiko returned with an absolute bang.

Almost quite literally.

A storm like none Allen had ever seen before hit Yamatai, and it came straight out of nowhere. It raged across every crack and crevice of the island it could reach, whipping everything into a horrid frenzy. The rains came down in torrents and the wind smashed into home's metal wall so hard, he almost thought it'd buckle. It made the very mountain tremble, as though their cave home was going to collapse in on them. Then there was the constant roars of thunder rumbling away in the sky above them almost constantly. It was as though a thousand Báthorys and a thousand Carmillas had clustered together in the heavens above and began unleashing an endless stream of roars.

The raptors had taken shelter with them for the time being, but for Báthory and Carmilla, they would have to fend for themselves. Not even Ash would venture out, in spite of her constant worry for them.

"It isn't safe for any of us, but for them…hopefully, if they stay huddled in the lee of the mountain, they should be okay."

It began taking a toll on all of them, being cooped up for nearly a week straight. Allen felt the jitteriness hit him in the first few day or so. It petered out rather quickly, allowing boredom and dullness to settle in. By the end of the week, he still hadn't seen the outside world. He was wondering when they'd see the sun again. It was only after he noticed the raptors' and Ash's sudden alertness that he felt it trickling back into his system as well. Soon home was alive with jittery energy all over again, but it wasn't lively at all. It was electric and edgy.

"Something's wrong."

All the raptors were looking at the door, same as Ash. The werewolf was stiff-backed and rigid-shouldered. She was petrified, and her words were choked out when she spoke.

"I smell fire."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The island was alit like a jewel. The skies used to be black and heavy with storms, but now they were painted with the colour of hell, reflections of the fire burning their image into the covered sky above. Smoke choked the air, but it did little to hide the blazes that covered the mountains and riddled the forests. Embers danced freely in the air like glowing sprites, fiery seedlings caught on the wind and waiting to set untouched grounds aflame. The shantytown below was nothing but a sea of glittering gold and crimson red, completely awash in flames. The palace grounds were barely discernable, just a vague shadow amid the towering pillars of the inferno that had engulfed them completely.

The heavens above rumbled ominously and a crack of lightning staggered down onto the island in a brilliant flash of silvery light.

Allen felt his heart hammering away in his chest at the sight and even at this distance, he could feel the absolute heat of the firestorm raging away. The air reeked and made his throat tickle and pinch shut, his eyes water from the stinging debris. So far, the pine forest was untouched, but with all the free-floating cinders, it was only a matter of time before one touched down and started a new crop of wildfire.

"What's going on?"

"Himiko. That fucking _bitch_."

Even with the way she spat out the Sun Queen's name, Allen could detect the fear tinging Ash's voice.

He reached for her and she nearly flinched away from him. She calmed long enough to catch the look of concern on his face. He could see the anger, more palpable than ever written in her eyes, trying to hide away the terror that had laced them moments before. Gently, when he saw she was waiting, he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"What can I do to help?"

"You can't. There isn't anything you can do. This—" She looked away, eyes glossing over the fire-razed sections of the island…the parts that could be seen beneath the veneer of thick smoke and conflagration, that is. "I have to fix this. Only I can do it."

"Ash…"

"No, just…no, Allen. This is something only I can do. You're not fireproof and I am. I…I can fix this. I can't let—" Her voice cracked. "I can't let the island burn again. I can't. Not again."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

She worked fast to get all her equipment and gear ready. Normally, she always had a bag ready to go, so it never took her that long. He felt useless, knowing he'd be sitting idly by while she went out into the blazing infernos across Yamatai. Worrying about whether the fires were going to be creeping up on their doorstep again, and even when he was doubting that last, it still cropped up regardless.

Her words rang in his head, over and over: _Not again. Not again. Not again._

They echoed everywhere; in her body, her words, the fevered speed in which she worked. Her pack was simply stuffed to the brim with supplies. But those will be useless if this island burns itself right into the ocean.

Suddenly, he wondered if this was how most normal humans felt when they were faced against something they couldn't possibly stand up to and fight. Like the people he's met that had faced Akuma, and could do next to nothing but stand by while he and his fellow Exorcists did all the fighting. Was this really how it felt, to be sidelined because he couldn't do anything?

 _I'm not fireproof. I'm not built for this kind of fight. Not like she is._

Allen hated admitting it. He hated admitting it to himself. Where she went, he simply couldn't follow, couldn't help.

It was the attack on the Asian Branch all over again, but this time around even with his arm intact, he still couldn't do _anything_.

"Can you really stop it?"

He had to ask, he had to know. There was so much and the flames were large enough to be seen from a distance. It was a conflagration out of control, a veritable firestorm that seemed impossible to contain and could only be stopped by letting it burn itself out. He has never seen her level of control beyond the few momentary glimpses here and there, and the smoldering aftermaths. Could she really stop a tempestuous blaze of this size and magnitude? Starting fires was easy. Stopping them when they were this big was a whole other story.

"Yes." She answered without hesitation, but he could hear the doubt that laced that one word before she amended it with, "I'm going to have to."

"Is there anything I can _do_ ," he pressed.

"If the flames don't burn you up, then you'll die choking on the smoke. And unless you have a fire-retardant suit hidden somewhere in this cave, you aren't going out there. I won't risk that."

"And what about you?"

"You've seen me with fire. I can't burn. And the smoke…I don't know. It's never really affected me the same way as it does other people."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"

She turned back to face him, wringing and fidgeting with her hands in front of her. Finally, she reached for his hand, gathering it up in hers. "Just…keep the raptors safe. Don't let them out. Smoke confuses animals. Makes them stupid and scared and then they end up hurt. Báthory and Carmilla…they can't get too far in here, but they should be around close by. I'll try to contain the fires and push them back as far as I can and put out any airborne embers I find."

Ash gave his hand a squeeze and before he could react, she was slipping from his grip, turning to throw her pack over her shoulder and clipping a walkie-talkie to her belt. She paused to cast him a parting look, but it was riddled with uncertainty. It was then in that moment, just before she left that Allen recognized just how much more open she has been in showing her emotions lately. She's drifted from the hard-skinned, icy mask she used to don to a more carefree and openly energetic young woman. So much has changed that it was hard to believe it's been nearly five years since they've first met.

"I wish there was something more you could help with, but…if you play with the fires I'm after, you'll burn up and then there will be nothing left. And I can't fix that. I'm the only one who can put these things out." She stooped to pick up and belt on a quiver, filled to the brim with arrows. "I think the rains are done for now. We can't wait on them. Himiko's holding it back on purpose, I can sense it. I don't know what she's trying to accomplish, but it can't good."

"Just come back."

She blinked at him, words fleeing her and her face falling in surprise when he stepped up and pulled her into an embrace. She predictably froze, like she normally did.

"Promise me that."

He was a little more than surprised when she returned the hug, squeezing him as tight as she could allow herself without hurting him. His surprise faded rather quickly and was replaced with relief that she wasn't actively pushing him away.

"I'll come back. I promise."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The raptors were always a little more attuned to something happening around them than he was. Whether it was because they had phenomenal hearing or some kind of animal sense, he still wasn't sure of yet, but they all perked and stared at the door with low growls and squeals in their chests before the banging began. It was a frantic, desperate noise and those making it were begging for sanctuary. Some of the raptors trotted closer toward the door, snot-snarling out warnings. Allen hesitated. He trusted the raptors' instincts and their cues to their surroundings.

With the way they were reacting, he concluded that whoever was out there, it was definitely not Ash. The raptors never raised their feathered hackles like this where she was concerned. She would have simply barged in, regardless of whether she had someone injured draped over her or not.

 _It's the Solarii,_ he concluded and a grim realization dawned on him. _They're trying to escape the fire._

Ash didn't want the island to burn and he knew she couldn't stand letting living things burn alive, even the Solarii. If anything, she would rather use her bare hands than to use her fire for anything other than scare tactics, the whole shock and awe package deal. She's told him time and again, if she used her fire as an easy way out to burn her enemies, then she would be no better than the Solarii. Animals weren't the only ones that became stupid and scared where fire and the threat of burning alive was involved.

 _I can't let them burn, either. She can chew me out later for this. I won't let them burn. I_ can't _._

He crossed the threshold and threw the door open. As soon as he did, a gaggle of bodies piled inside, one right on top of the other, a tangle of torsos and limbs scrambling to get further inside. They barely gave him a passing glance as they charged inside—and straight into the pack.

"Oh, no, no, no—Carver, Spectre—don't! Don't touch them!"

The seven Dakotaraptors screamed out their fury in unison, feathers splayed, recurved teeth bared, and claws at the ready. They ignored Allen completely, even when he signed madly at the same time as he shouted at the raptors. One of the men turned on his heel, heading back for the door. His eyes were wild and lit up with fear. He caught Allen's eye and stopped in his tracks, terror written clearly on his face.

"Close it," he said, at first in a hushed whisper. His next words came out with a bellow. "CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR BEFORE—!

A black arrow came sailing through the ajar door, planting itself firmly into the man's skull and cutting off his words. Allen scrambled back as the Solarii brother collapsed in a boneless heap. The others shouted, whirling, turning their backs on the raptors to see what happened. Some looked to him and he shook his head vehemently. It wasn't one of Ash's arrows and they definitely weren't his. He recognized her handiwork and that arrow wasn't hers.

 _They weren't just running from the fire. They were running from something else._ It hit him hard. _The storms—Himiko comes back and then someone comes following in the wake of her return._

Not all of Himiko's returns did this, but a majority of them he's noticed the trend well enough. Allen dove for the door, but it was too late. The door slammed open further just as he reached it and a group of humanoid _somethings_ came barreling inside. The Solarii—broken and bleeding and exhausted—still tried to put up a fight. Some had a few bullets left and those went flying wildly. Only a few others got an arrow or two loosed before they were set upon their pursuers.

They hadn't noticed Allen yet, but it was only a matter of time. They were brutish, ugly things with sickly-looking skin, strange scaled armour, and they brandished weapons of varying designs—swords he recognized, others a few bows and arrows, and at least two or three had war axes. They screamed in a language he'd never heard before. The raptors bellowed back their own war cry and leapt into the fray. The oncoming attackers weren't as prepared for the flying fury of the feathered raptors.

Chaos broke out like a bolt out of the blue and the only thing that made any lick of sense to Allen was that the Solarii were being slaughtered with terrifying ease, and the raptors were killing just as many of the strange newcomers. One finally turned on him, baring crooked sharp teeth past an under-bite while brandishing a sword. The brute sneered at him and said something to Allen, but whatever was said, he didn't have a clue. The one thing he did recognize was the tone. His opponent spoke with a declaration of some sort, and his voice was dripping with promise to spill blood and cause pain.

That intention was apparently universal, no matter the language.

 _I don't even think they're human,_ Allen thought. Humanoid, maybe. But certainly not _human_.

The sword-bearing monster charged, shouting a war cry. Allen parried, his hand invoked and the familiar white mantle of his cloak settling around his shoulders. The brute sneered again, but a touch of surprise coloured his piggish dark eyes, sharp teeth bared in a grimace. Allen activated his eye, and it struck him that he hadn't done it in such a long time.

Nothing.

This wasn't an Akuma at all.

A small part of him had hoped it was.

A large part of him was simultaneously relieved and…disappointed.

He had little time to reflect on the matter; his opponent recovered quickly and charged with another bloodthirsty roar ripping through the air. So intent was he on Allen, that his opponent failed to see the two raptors creeping up from behind and to his side until it was too late. Several hundred pounds of lean, feathered muscle came down in the form of Sol and Luna, both of them screaming a cry so primal and ear-piercing that Allen had to clap his hands over his ears.

As the last of the creatures were dispatched of, Allen noticed how deathly quiet it was, other than the chittering of the other raptors. All of the strange beings and the Solarii brothers who had stepped through the threshold were dead. The raptors had cleaned house chilling ease and efficiency, rubbing at their faces and sullying their forelimbs and feathers with blood. Sol straightened and came trotting around Allen, mewling and inspecting Allen with glittering golden eyes. Luna promptly skittered away from the body they had taken down, uninterested in touching it any further.

He gently patted Sol on the snout. The raptor purred softly.

"I'm fine, thanks, but…" he turned to look at the scattered bodies of the strange humanoids that had followed the Solarii. "What are _they_?"

The raptor only purred back, briefly squealed, and darted away from Allen, joining his pack mates to stand by the door. They rubbed snouts with Sol before all seven filed out of the doorway. Allen stared after them in disbelief, belated for nearly a full thirty seconds before he went after them, but it was too late. They were gone.

Outside, the world was filled of nothing but embers and ashes and smoke.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Everything's going to be fine, it's fine, it's fine, it's fine, I'll find the raptors and bring them back, and everything will be fine and she'll never know that they got loose…"

Oh, right. Like she'd ever believe that; not even _he_ believed that!

Sloughing through the smoke-choked forests was painful enough, even with a strip of cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth. It stung his eyes and the soot and ashes falling like snow from the skies weren't helping visibility much either. They muddled everything, making it into a grime covered nightmare of black and grey and traces of white. Occasionally he'd see darker shadows darting along through the burnt forests, disappearing in a swirl of blackened ash, but he couldn't tell what they were. The air echoed with the cries of other animals, but whether they were in pain or just calling out, he wasn't too sure.

Shantytown was gone, and the palace had been burned nearly to rubble, he soon came to find. The fires were out, but huge plumes of thick black smoke rose from the valley below and the mountains above. In fact, most of the island's fires were out now.

 _She's doing it, then. She's getting things under control._

He smiled in relief, but it was short-lived.

Allen stilled himself and strained to listen. He heard something. The seconds ticked by and it soon became clear what he had heard was voices. At first, he believed it might be more Solarii brothers, trying to escape the flames. He found a touch of irony in that thought; they proclaimed that statement all over the island and yet, couldn't bring themselves to follow their own "advice".

The closer the speakers came, however, had Allen recognizing that same strange language from before. He could hear crashing through the forest and shouts accompanied the raucous noise and when he saw shapes emerging through the haze, he ducked behind a tree for cover. Footfalls, heavy and frantic, were bearing closer still. He stole a peek around the trunk of the tree and spied three figures making a mad dash in his general direction. Behind them were the muddled figures of an even larger group. The three closest to him were being chased, much like the Solarii had earlier.

The first three reached them and he saw that they weren't the Solarii. They were much too short, like children, but they were adults—he caught sight of beards and braids, and they wore fur, leather and woven clothing, with bits of armour peeking out here and there. They were unarmed. One of them shot a look over their shoulder, caught Allen's eye and shouted at him, "RUN!"

Allen took one glance around the tree before pelting after the other three. He would rather take his chances with the ones being chased than the chasers.

Running sounded like a wonderful idea, especially now that he was in the fray of things.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen eventually got to the front and led the other three away. It was easier than he thought, especially with his high penchant for getting lost. For once, it was useful to him on this island.

"If I didn't have the raptors shadow you, you'd probably walk off into a Carnie's stomach and not realize it," Ash would joke often to him. He didn't find it as funny, especially on this island. But now, it actually worked out rather well. The monsters, whatever they were, didn't know the land and he did.

Sort of.

When he and his impromptu companions had enough time to catch their breath, Allen found himself assessing the other three. They were extremely short, he noticed off the bat. The tallest of the three couldn't have been taller than four-foot-eight, at the very least. None of them appeared to be armed, and Allen couldn't blame any of them for fleeing instead of fighting. They were vastly outnumbered, and they looked exhausted, even if they hid it well. Sweat and soot marred their faces.

The tallest of the three looked fairly mature compared to his shorter companions and had a rather regal and serious air about him, right down to the dark hair to the long nose and intense dark eyes. The young man middling in height of the three was fair-haired and had some of it tamed into braids, including his beard. He grinned at Allen. "Thanks for the assistance, friend. Fortune was on our side when you crossed our paths."

"Fortune, indeed." The older one rumbled. He sounded utterly unimpressed and agitated to no end. Impatient to get a move on, even. He looked at Allen as though he was peering down his nose at him. Allen felt a little ruffled at that, especially after having saved them, even if it had been in an unorthodox manner of "run until lost".

The other two looked a bit miffed themselves, but remained quiet on the matter. "Where to now, boy?"

"My name is Allen," he coolly corrected, but in all honesty, he didn't know where to next. With the soot, the ash, the smoke tinted world, he didn't recognize anything, more so than usual.

"As long as we can get away from the orcs, we should be fine."

"Orcs?"

Allen wracked his brain, trying to recall the book Ash had made, the one with all the creatures and monsters in it. None of the pages had anything that mentioned anything called an orc, although after tonight, he surmised there would be soon.

"Those ugly beasts chasing us. Name's Fili and he's Kili, by the way. At your service." They both dipped their heads in introduction. Allen nodded back.

"I gathered as much. And pleasure to meet you."

As long as they had the manners to introduce themselves, Allen found it fit to return the courtesy.

"Enough. Where to now?"

"I…" Allen hesitated, casting another uncertain eye across the razed landscape. "These fires have changed so much, I can't tell what used to be what. But I can say that you won't get far, if you're hoping to escape those…orcs…for much longer. You're trapped on an island."

"An island?"

"Where?"

"Certainly not Laketown."

The younger of the two bantered back and forth a little further, while Allen was left to contend with the eldest of the three. He shifted his eyes from the two and onto Allen, his intense gaze boring into his eyes. Allen decided fairly quickly that this man could give Ash a run for her money in terms of 'intense stare down'.

"My friend is out there. She's putting out the fires, but if I radio her—"

Allen stopped himself short, a hand going to the empty space at his belt, realizing that he'd left his walkie-talkie back at the cave. He had had enough sense to grab his pack but that was it. He had forgotten his bow and a quiver of arrows, too.

 _Oh no. No, no, no._

"Shit."

"I'm sorry, you were saying something?"

"I…have no way to contact my friend, and she has no idea I'm out here." Allen admitted, feeling his face turn red with embarrassment. He wished Timcanpy was here. "She actually told me to stay where it was safe, so I wouldn't be out here mucking about."

Was it him or was the smoke getting thicker?

He couldn't see any further than a few meters now. That wasn't good.

 _The fires she hasn't gotten to must be spreading and we're too close to them. We need to get out of here._

"And where, pray tell, are we to go? We've orcs on our trail, fires surrounding the rest of us, and we've no way to escape, if we're truthfully on an island. How far is the mainland?"

"I'm not sure. Farther than a few miles; we're in the middle of the ocean."

The telling look of shock was enough to say, they hadn't expected that answer. The shock was brief and quickly replaced by calculating looks.

"How do we get away? A boat, I would hopefully presume."

"My friend can lead us to it, yes." Allen said with a nod.

"The same friend who is supposedly putting out these wildfires? Brilliant. Does she even know we're here?"

"She suspects as much and she'll help, once she does know for sure. We just need to make it back to our home. It's safe there."

"Safe against Azog the Defiler? I doubt it."

Allen pursed his lips. "Ash is an adept fighter and won't bow before anyone easily, not if it meant protecting someone. She won't let them take over."

 _She'll kill them all,_ he wanted to add, but he felt a little sick to his stomach admitting it even to himself. Allen perked at a familiar chitter and looked up. He scanned the area, squinting between the falling ash and smoke, and caught sight of a familiar silhouette trotting closer toward them. He waited and his patience was rewarded. One of the raptors hopped onto a still-intact fallen log beside their clustered group, watching them all inquisitively. The other three backed away, watching Allen shrewdly as he approached.

The raptor purred contentedly, arms folded neatly into their sides, palms facing inboard and one another.

He signed to the raptor, ' _Lead us out of here_ '. He suspected it was either Luna or Carver, but wasn't sure. They both had dark markings that were similar in low lighting. He was glad nonetheless to have been found.

He stood and motioned with a tip of his head to the three. "Let's go. One of our guides is here."

"What is that thing? It looks…like a dragon. But smaller."

"And no wings."

Allen smiled. "That is a Dakotaraptor. They're a dinosaur. And they'll help us back."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Most of the old homes that had been resident to the island for thousands of years were nothing but blackened timber and grey ashes. The clifftops were alive with the winds kicking up the residues that had once proudly stood erect there. The ground was still aglow with cinders too stubborn to wink out of existence. In the distance, they could see the mountains beyond, dotted with tiny pinpricks of lights, glowing like stars. Faint wisps of smoke curled along the ground as they tread past the ruined hovels.

It was Luna who had found them and she led them through the eerie and quiet landscape. Allen noted off the bat the troubled looks all three carried on their faces as they regarded the destruction.

"What happened here?"

"A terrible storm," Allen said. "The rains won't come and instead, the lightning rained down. They started it all."

"Looks almost like dragon fire."

"No, this is not dragon fire," the eldest of the three said, the one who had been introduced as Thorin. "Dragon fire burns hotter."

Allen was ready to ask what he meant by that. Thorin spoke almost as though he had experience with it…but dragons didn't exist, did they?

Luna stopped suddenly, right in the middle of the field, going stiff except for her head. She moved that on a swivel, her wide eyes growing wider still. She timbered while snaking her head back and forth and chittering nervously as she danced on the spot. Her feathered tail swayed, the feathers on her hackles and backside bristling upwards. Allen stepped forward, laying a calming hand on her flank. She snaked her head around to look at him, her lower jaw working up and down rapidly while she hissed and warbled.

"What is it?"

Luna warbled anxiously again. Allen didn't like how antsy she was suddenly acting and she wasn't advancing any further. The raptor took a step back, her tail bobbing stiffly as she did. He looked to the others and they too could sense the nervous energy the raptor was displaying. They were showing it just as openly as Luna.

"Something's wrong. We should double-back—"

Luna screamed suddenly, throwing her head back to the skies and toppled over with a thrash of her limbs. A trio of arrows were sprouting out of her side, the shaft and fletching both black as night. Luna howled and twitched violently, pumping her legs to throw herself back up onto her feet. Allen heard the whistle of the next volley coming this time and caught one arrow just as he invoked his Crown Clown, the cloak snapping the rest out of the air with a thunderous crack. Luna croaked and squealed as she limped to his side. The other three took to his other side.

When he scanned the area, he quickly came to find the largest of the orc brutes coming toward them through the rising smoke, riding upon a wolf-like mount as bone-white as his master. The brute's left arm was cut off near below the elbow, and in its place was a long, metal prong, screwed into the very flesh. The other arm still had its forearm and hand fully intact, but in it he brandished a giant mace.

The white beast and its pale master prowled through the cinders and soot, flanked by a pack of smaller wolf-creatures and smaller orcs. Embers went flying into the air wherever their giant paws stepped. Even at this distance, Allen could hear their menacing growls and snapping jaws. The pack of wolfish beasts and their mounts were backing Allen and the others up against a cliff, the way they had come blocked and the way they were going just as well.

The other three to his left stiffened and cursed. The one thing Allen noted amongst his three charges—dwarves, they had called themselves—was that they were unarmed and vulnerable. That meant he was the only one who essentially had a weapon to fight with. Luna snarled in warning at the approaching threats, baring her teeth.

Barrel-chested, muscled and bearing markings that looked suspiciously like intentional scarring, the pale orc looked to be an intimidating foe and most likely the de facto leader. The giant had to be at least three meters tall, Allen noticed immediately, definitely taller than the others surrounding them. When he spoke, his voice boomed as he rattled off in a gruff tongue, the same language from earlier that Allen didn't understand. However, it was still clear enough to understand the insinuations aimed at them; death was being promised to them.

The pack of wolf-creatures and their riders surrounded them, crossing over the ashen ruins. As they stalked closer, the yellows of their eyes glowed a sickly colour in the reflection of the dying embers. Their riders weren't any prettier as they sneered. Some had noticeable battle scars marring their faces or arms, most wore scaled armour, and all of them were armed. Swords, battle axes, bows and arrows, maces.

A few of them looked ready to charge, their mounts tense and twitching with agitated energy. Luna snarled defiantly when one ventured too close. The wolf-creature barked back, black lips peeling to show off yellowed fangs. Allen laid a hand on Luna's flank and could feel her trembling. Thorin was glaring at the pale orc sitting near the back of the pack. The pale orc was watching him in return. He looked rather smug while watching them.

The giant orc opened his mouth, ready to issue an attack most likely, before a hailstorm of arrows came falling over them all. Most, if not all, of the riders went down with squeals and bellows of pain and their mounts reared and bristled in fright and shock. Some of the riders were dead before they fell out of the saddles and onto the ground. Fire unexpectedly rose up from the dying embers around them into a storm of beasts. Twin snakes of emerald flames hissed and screeched as they sluiced across the ground, creating a brilliant curtain of sparks around the riders and their mounts, cutting them off from Allen and the others.

Allen could hear the brute bellowing above the panicked screams of the wolf-creatures and their riders, his voice thundering to be heard, to be listened to. He could see the wolf-creatures scrambling to avoid touching the ring of fire, their gruff words overlapping over one another. Even if they spoke English, he doubted he'd hear anything discernable. He didn't need to know what they were saying, though. There was panic in the air and it was working to disassemble their structure.

Fili and Kili huffed out a few disbelieving laughs, cautious smiles pulling at their lips when they noticed they were left untouched. Kili glanced off to the side, nudged Fili and nodded over. Thorin followed the two's gazes.

"Your friend, I presume?" Thorin asked, his shoulders straight back but his eyes watching intensely at the firestorm.

"Ash," Allen confirmed with a nod. Luna chittered softly beside him. "She can control fire."

"Glad she's on our side, then. Seems a mite more powerful and handy to have on hand."

 _So am I._

Another volley of arrows rained down, these too close for comfort. He twitched at the sight of them and hurriedly swept his cloak over them all. The satisfying clink of arrowheads bouncing off of it seconds later was all the confirmation he needed to hear before he swept back his cloak. The brothers gazed in awe at the cloak once more and asked where they could get such a wonder. Allen offered a wry smile but no more for an answer. He returned his gaze back to the impromptu battlefield.

The fire had died down considerably in those precious few seconds. Ash had appeared before them, inserting herself between the small cell of enemies and Allen, Luna, and the dwarves. She faced the group of orcs and their wolf-creature mounts, or at least, what was left of them. What had once been a number of nearly two dozen strong had greatly diminished to nearly half a dozen, including their leader. The pale orc's mount was lying down and dying, its sides heaving and its white fur soaked in blood and its rider was dismounting. Even at this distance, he could see the orc was positively huge. If Allen could barely clear his waist, then Ash didn't even come close.

"Oi!" She barked at the pale orc, raising one of her hands up. Golden fire coiled around her forearm and wrist in the shape of a hooded snake, caressing her bare fingers with a tenderness he knew no one else could understand or know of. The pale beast looked unimpressed and stared down at Ash with all the snarl he could muster. "Did you shoot my raptor, you big-breasted bitch?"

Allen heard a scoff of disbelief beside him. The fair-haired of the three, Fili, had his mouth gaping open, another smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Kili grinned broadly. Thorin looked as foreboding as ever.

"Is she serious? Did she just…?"

"Call him that? Yes. She does that." Allen remarked with a sigh. Of course she'd go off and trash-talk the biggest looking opponent she could find. She did the same thing with the large Oni, the Big Guy, except it'd be in Japanese. It drove them, especially the Big Guy, all mad.

"She must have a death wish then," Thorin remarked without a trace of humour.

"No," Allen remarked, glancing at the raptor beside him. "He is the one with a death wish. He shot Luna."

She was still standing, but she'd need help in getting the arrows removed. He laid a hand on her flank again and she snaked her head over to bump it against him. He felt red hot anger bloom in him at the sight of her injuries, at her blood oozing out from beneath the shaft. He didn't want to mess with it; retrieving arrowheads was nasty, messy, painful work. He had to grudgingly acknowledge that he didn't have the skill to help her. He'd have to wait for Ash and hope she finished this quickly. For now…for now, he'd let her handle this fight.

For Ash, this had escalated to a very personal level and he had no desire to get in the midst of her rampage.

Azog snarled again and started advancing shortly after her insult. Ash growled and it was loud enough that it reached them at this distance. The pale orc smirked a little as he strode forward, uttering more words in his mother tongue. What remaining flunkies were left laughed.

"I asked you a question, you big dumb motherfucker! Did you shoot my raptor?"

What smiles that were left disappeared, even from the dwarves. Hands twitched with the urge to grab something and throttle it. Or perhaps to wield weapons. Thorin, Fili, and Kili were all unarmed. It was certainly no wonder they had been running for their lives earlier.

"She's going to get herself killed." There was a strained tightness, and a mixture of grim acceptance in Thorin's voice. Even beneath his heavy cloak and furs, Allen could tell the burly man's frame was rigid and wanting in on the action, to fight back, but he had nothing to fight with except his bare hands. He had no choice but to stick to the sidelines and the fire burning in his dark eyes suggested he wanted otherwise.

"No. She won't," Allen said. He nodded to the bow in her other hand. "She knows what she's doing."

"That little bow is not going to kill him. It's not enough."

Allen smiled. "You have no idea what she's capable of with just a mere bow and a few arrows."

"You don't understand; that's _Azog the Defiler_. Have you _not_ heard of him?"

"No, frankly, I haven't, and I'm sure Ash hasn't either. She wouldn't care even if she had. This Azog has no idea who _he's_ up against." He turned to watch and he silently hoped that he was right and that Ash would come out on top in this fight. The pale orc wasn't much bigger than the Big Guy. He's seen her take him down with frightening, laughable ease. He could already hear Ash saying, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall."

The orc didn't stop. He closed the distance rapidly with his longer stride and raised the mace with a roar, intent on crushing it down on the werewolf's head. Ash moved so quickly, she was almost just a blur to the naked eye. One moment, she was on the ground, the next she was airborne, out of the way of the mace's trajectory, and had kicked the giant in his chest with her pawed foot. The sudden blow sent Azog flying, staggering, falling.

Ash was still not as fast as Lenalee—but she was fast enough to surprise and topple the pale orc.

The surprise was palpable on everyone's faces except Allen's. He glanced at the other three and added, "You have never seen her fight with nothing else but her bare hands before, either."

"Motherfucker, this is the last fucking time! Did you and your fucking goonies squad shoot my fucking raptor?"

The pale orc pulled himself up to his feet and twisted his face into a toothy grimace. When he glanced down, he roared. There was blood on his chest where Ash's paws had raked along his flesh. He bellowed out in that unknown tongue his, yelling at his remaining subordinates, gesturing at them wildly. The few riders still alive hesitated, looking torn between following orders and turning tail to flee. Their mounts didn't look any more enthused.

Ash holstered her bow to her back and pulled her favoured twin knives from the holsters at her thighs.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." She barked back, twisting the knives so the tips faced the ground. "You got a purdy mouth, you big bitch. But I'm about to carve it up and make you uglier'n sin."

The remaining wolf-creatures leapt as if on cue, teeth bared and yellow eyes mad and bright in the firelight.

Allen tensed. He was almost ready to consider leaping into the fray. They were going to mob her! He took a step forward and stopped just as suddenly as he had started when he felt the ground tremble with the rage of an earthquake. Seconds later, he was glad he had. Báthory and Carmilla came bursting onto the scene, as though they had materialized out of nowhere. Both of the rexes snatched up two riders and kicked at the wolf-creatures with their heavy talon-riddled feet. Screams were cut off with such an abruptness that the ensuing absence was more crushing. The behemoths crunched their jaws on the others as they tried escaping the terrifying giants and their grinning jaws.

The flames around them, which had mellowed, rose up anew like a phoenix from the ashes, trapping the orcs and cutting off their escape.

Ash chose that moment to charge right back in, using the midst of the confusion to her advantage. Allen could see her weaving between shuddering, heavy legs. She disappeared from sight entirely when Báthory bulldogged her way over toward Carmilla's side to assist in tearing up one of the wolf-creatures. The old tyrannosaur snapped up a still-flailing wolf-creature's legs and the two tore it in half with sickening ease. The Indominus Rex used her longer forelimbs tipped with massive talons to tear her prey to shreds, like a knife through wet tissue paper. Gore and gristle rained down and disappeared from sight on the ground.

It was that gruesome display that distracted him. Carmilla and Báthory had taken up most of the impromptu battlefield's grounds, tossing gristle and blood and bone and bits of flesh as they laid out a path of utter and complete carnage. Ashes and embers flew as the curtain of flames began to slowly wither once more as the numbers of orcs decreased. Yet, he couldn't see where Ash and the pale orc had gone. Fili and Kili were brimming with nervous energy, looking ready to bolt, and Thorin looked equally ready to issue the order to do so. Whether it was to safety, or to fight, Allen didn't have a clue yet. Allen calmed them quickly while Luna cough-barked frantically at the two rexes. Her calls came in wheezy gurgles and his worry for her condition worsened. He could only focus on so much at once.

 _One thing at a time._

Allen turned to the three, not realizing at first that he was signing as he spoke to them.

"It's all right, they're on our side! They won't harm us, that's just Báthory and Carmilla!"

The irony in that statement alone struck him as…kind of funny, actually.

"What _are_ they?"

"They're more dinosaurs, just bigger than Luna! I swear, they're on our side, Thorin. Trust me. Ash has worked with them for years, they won't harm us. They're here to protect us."

They looked doubtful, especially Thorin. There was mistrust glittering especially bright in his dark eyes. Apparently, trust was not an easy thing for this man.

 _I wonder who that reminds me of_ , Allen thought suddenly. Allen glanced over his shoulder just in time to see one of the last riders making a break for it—right for his group. Báthory, however, wasn't having it. She spotted the rapid movement and sharply turned her head to intercept. The old tyrannosaur bellowed, baring her long fangs and sank them into the legs of her fleeing prey, mere feet away from them. The wolf creature howled and its rider tried to bail, but ended up being caught up by his saddle's stirrup. It was a long enough delay for Báthory to drag the mount closer and snap her jaws down on the orc.

When the old tyrannosaur spotted Allen, she growled inquisitively with a mouthful of gore, regarding him for several split seconds. Then she snorted and turning back to the killing field, promptly leaving them alone. He saw the cautious appraisal and hint of deep-seated mistrust continue to take root in all three of the dwarves' faces. Clearly, they seemed to have some underlying reason in being overly guarded.

Allen added as an afterthought, "They're our allies, but please try to stay clear of being underfoot. They don't always watch what they step on."

With that said, he trotted a little closer, sweeping his eyes across the way. The fires had all but died now, leaving a blackened, scorched ring around where Ash had set up her ring of fire. What had been left of the foundations of the old homes was nearly destroyed. Blackened timber was thrown asunder, embers that had almost flickered out completely were glowing again, feeding slowly on their new source of life. Acrid smoke was coming back in thin curling wisps. He could make out the silhouettes beyond Báthory and Carmilla as they cleaned up the rest of the orc pack, one very short shadow and the other tall brawling against one another.

He caught sight of Ash in a clearing between the smoke and the dying light, and she was holding her own against the pale orc. She wasn't holding back like she did with the Solarii, or even the Oni. She wasn't playing games, she was actually duking it out. For every punch or kick or slash of her knife, there was a jettison of fire, brilliant gold and bold scarlet, brief but terrifying to watch.

There was a brief instant of elation as he watched her slash her knives, biting deep into the orc's flesh and he saw a band of blood spray across his skin. He yowled with rage and indignation, only to be cut short when Ash kicked hard and staggering the giant being further away. The blow enraged him and he swung his weapon hard and fast, but he did so blindly. When he followed up with a vicious swing from his weaponized prosthetic, she blocked what could have been a fatal blow to a normal human and returned it in kind, sending Azog stumbling once again.

They were matched in strength, despite their wildly differing sizes and statures.

She moved in for another hit, but the pale orc was prepared this time around, dancing just out of reach. From the way he moved, Allen could already tell Azog was a seasoned fighter. Ash smashed her fist into the ground and splinters of stone and shale and dust flew into the air, fracturing the very earth with another burst of flame following the blow.

It wasn't just the way she threw her punches and conjured flame that reacted to her, either. The fire that still surrounded the area was reacting just as much, he could see it. The flames that still clung to life guttered out and rose back up into different shades and colours and shapes; one moment he saw a sea of snakes silently hissing into the air, driving the orc back, and distracting him to where Ash wanted him to go. The next it was a pack of raptors snapping their jaws and herding Azog once again. Azog was fast, much faster than Allen would have expected, but Ash was like a flame herself. She danced just as quickly out of reach, flickering, twisting, and lashing back in return. It was like watching her hunting a rather peculiar and clever prey animal.

She was fighting with the heated passion of fire, not the unchecked fury of a werewolf.

"What manner of creature is she?"

"A werewolf." Allen simply answered without thinking. There was no immediate danger now. The wolf-creatures and their riders had been deposed of. Any who had tried to flee, Báthory and Carmilla snatched up in their powerful jaws before they could get away. Now they were waiting on the fringes of the makeshift battlefield, just out of reach of the soft glow of the embers, their eyes and the outlines of their bulk the only thing left to see in the eerie lighting. Luna wailed beside him, agitated to get into the fight, but she remained by his side, occasionally whimpering in pain. He turned to her, checking the arrows still protruding from her flanks and he winced in sympathy.

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to tug those out, not without Ash to help."

Ash always said it took a lot to kill a raptor. It wasn't impossible, but it was hard as hell. Arrows would be painful for them to endure, true, but their close-knit ribcages made it harder for the arrows to get to their organs. He patted her side, and was immediately troubled by the labored way he could feel her breathing. Quicker than usual, and every breath sounded strenuous.

"Just a little longer," he said quietly. The raptor panted heavily and chittered anxiously.

"She's down!"

Dread struck at him the moment those words rang out and held him tight. He whipped back toward the field in time to see Ash sent flying by a kick from Azog. The pale orc sent her skidding along through the mounds of smoke and dust, smashing up old timber—right to the edge of the cliffs.

Blood rushed in his ears and he felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. He darted forward, heard the other three call out to him and Luna scream at his backside. Logically, he knew Ash could survive the fall. That didn't mean he wanted her to see go over any more than he would anyone else. If she went over, that meant Azog would turn his sights on them and then—

" _Clown Belt!_ "

White ribbons lashed out ahead of him faster than he could run. One tied around Ash's arm, another her waist, a third around one of her legs. He skidded to a stop and yanked hard, pulling her away from the edge. She stopped just short of going over. He started to breathe a sigh of relief, but had to dive when Carmilla's tail came sailing in from above and out of nowhere, nearly cleaving itself into his face. He thought she was still beside Báthory! What was she doing? He watched the behemoth charge over to where Ash lay, making the air rumble all the while in her wake.

Allen felt the back of his neck prickle in warning, and he whirled. The pale orc was suddenly there, replacing Carmilla's large presence with his own. He was brandishing that giant of a weapon above him. He sneered down at Allen, a wild light in his eyes as he raised the mace high, his mouth gaping in a bellow. Allen prepared to summon his sword, but he never got the chance.

The light in Azog's eyes suddenly went out when something snapped his skull backward. Allen saw an arrow shaft protruded from his forehead, the feathered fletching white with an accent of black. A very brief, almost comical, expression crossed the pale orc's face, a dribble of dark blood oozing down the bridge of his nearly flat nose. His weapon dropped from his only hand and he groped blindly up at his head. Carmilla came swooping in out of nowhere, her jaws clamping onto the top half of the pale brute's torso, crushing down, down, _down_. Báthory roared and strode towards the larger rex, her head snaking under Carmilla's jaws as she neared. The old tyrannosaur nipped at kicking, twitching feet below before she latched on. They promptly repeated the same maneuver they had just done with the wolf-creature earlier and tore up the orc without fanfare.

Allen stared up in disbelief, averting his gaze to where Ash knelt on the ground, her bow out and a thunderous look in her eyes.

"No power in the 'Verse can stop me," she called with a booming voice as she slowly slid herself up to a standing position, a feral smile alighting her face. The scraps of fire that surrounded her changed one last time, fluttering into the dainty shapes of butterflies. They flapped once, twice, thrice, before they became tattered scraps of light that suddenly winked out of existence. Ash paid the bits of dying flame no mind and instead watched as Carmilla and Báthory fought over gristly flesh-scraps of what used to be Azog the Defiler and grimaced. Her expression morphed again when she turned her eyes on him, relief welling up behind her eyes. Her face was smeared with ashes and soot and sweat and blood, but she was alive and well. Unhurt, unburnt, unfazed.

Any injury she might have sustained from Azog were gone now.

A scream behind him made Allen jump and he turned toward the source. It was Luna. She had fallen over and she wasn't getting up, not even lashing or thrashing about.

The other three gathered as close as they dared without coming within reaching distance of the raptor. Kili was the first to approach, inch by inch, eyes wide as he assessed Luna. Allen was already moving, but Ash had caught up to him, passed him by, was already at Luna's side. She dropped to her knees, cradling the raptor's large skull and pulling it into her lap.

"No, no, no, hang on baby girl, you hang on, you hear me? You hang the fuck on, don't you dare clock out!"

Luna rasped out a few breaths, rolled her eyes and went still.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—Luna!"

Allen was already swinging his pack over his back, digging into it for the first aid kit. Ash yanked it out of his hands just as he barely cleared it from the pack. She popped the lid open to grab bandages and medicine and ointment.

"The arrows…"

Allen barely heard the words, but he heard them all the same. He didn't think of them as important as he tried to help Ash pull the arrows out without injuring Luna any more than she already was. He hardly recalled when the two brothers, Fili and Kili, stepped up to help as well, even if they didn't seem to quite understand what kind of animal they were attempting to help. Thorin stood idly by, watching with increasing irritation or maybe it was impatience but there was a guardedness deigning his eyes, words left unsaid as they worked. Allen didn't know what was going on in the dwarf's head and he didn't ask. It wasn't important.

But at least Thorin let them do what they needed to do without uttering a word of derision aimed at their task.

He could recall, however, with perfect clarity the moment Luna breathed her last and Ash weeping over the still body of the Dakotaraptor, clutching at her bloodied feathers.

Kili was suddenly beside him, watching the raptor and the werewolf forlornly. When Allen met his gaze, there was an inherently deep well of sympathy in his dark eyes.

"I'm sorry…but the arrows…they were poisoned. She was dead as soon as she was shot."

The skies rumbled above them. Allen looked up just as cold drizzle finally began to fall upon Yamatai.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Notes: Allen just doesn't have any luck in helping the Solarii out. Poor guy. And while Ash knows she'll get her raptors back eventually, it doesn't make the blow of losing one any less painful. Also, I will pit the Indominus Rex against Azog the Defiler any day of the week and I'm pretty sure the Indominus will come out on top, nine out of ten times. Carmilla's the real winner here, not Ash. XD**


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: In My Veins

**Chapter Twenty-One:  
In My Veins**

 **Warnings: The frickle-frackle. You have been warned. Read at your own discretion.**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _Oh, you're in my veins  
And I cannot get you out  
Oh, you're all I taste  
At night inside of my mouth  
Oh, you run away  
'Cause I am not what you found  
Oh, you're in my veins  
And I cannot get you out  
_ **-"** _ **In My Veins**_ **" by Andrew Belle** **  
**  
 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The next several days were a blur. He wasn't sure he wanted to pick them apart moment by moment quite yet, either. All he could clearly recall was that one day, he was helping clean up home and assisting in getting their guests settled in, prepped to leave, and then gone. The next he was standing on the beach, watching as their guests left for shores unknown. He was almost envious of them.

At least they didn't have to deal with the fallout with Ash that had probably been waiting for their very departure to conduct itself. Almost right on cue, as soon as they returned, Ash seemed to crumple in on herself. The front she had put up in front of the others was gone, the cracks in her armour more apparent. Allen couldn't find the right words to say to comfort her. He missed his window entirely and all too quickly. She was gone before he knew it, disappeared into the confines of her room for the remainder of the day and most of the night. He had fallen asleep on the couch sometime earlier in the evening, but as soon as he felt something settling over his body, he jerked awake, alert and alarmed. He found himself staring up at Ash, a blanket in her hands, half of it already draped over him.

"Didn't mean to wake you," she said in an apologetic voice, gently letting the blanket fall over him. She was avoiding his gaze and it instantly made his stomach churn and twist about, especially when she turned away without another word. He was up in a split second, calling for her to wait, his hand already reaching for her wrist. He pulled back at the last moment, remembering that the last time that happened, gravity hadn't been kind to him. And by gravity, it really meant 'Ash tossing him down on the ground and knocking the wind out of him for a good long while'. There were times she _really_ didn't like being touched and this was quite possibly one of them.

Thankfully, she stopped and he had a brief respite to gather his words. The most he could think of was to blurt out, "I'm sorry," to her. It was the only thing that came to mind and he felt the seconds drag by awkwardly the longer he went without saying anything else.

Ash waited, though, and she even met his eyes for a few seconds. The words finally came, if haltingly at first.

"I never meant to let them out. I thought…I thought I could help. They all piled inside, the Solarii and those orc things, before I could do anything about it, before I could stop anything. The raptors…they fled as soon as the dust settled, before I knew what was going on. I swear, I didn't mean—"

"Allen…just, shut up before you hurt yourself, okay?"

He promptly clacked his jaws shut, more boggled than upset.

"I'm…I'm not mad at you, if that's what you've been worried and fretting about." She took a long, measured breath in, and he could instantly tell she was gathering her own words up very carefully. She didn't want to be misunderstood or her words taken out of context. "I understand. I know the raptors, for all their smarts and intellect, are just animals. Highly intelligent, and respectfully and dangerously so, but they're animals all the same. They don't…reason like you or me. Not to the same level or degree that we can. And they hate being cooped up for long periods of time, especially when they sense me or you or one of their own getting restless."

Her hands were fidgeting at her sides, like they were becoming restless themselves and sought out something to do, something to work on. Whether it was writing, whittling, drawing, fighting, practicing, hunting, archery—an idle person, Ash was not. She spoke better with her actions than her words.

"It's lucky that you were out, even when I told you not to go. You…you did a good job, helping those three. I didn't see anyone else. And they didn't mention anyone, either, so…that much is good. And Luna, she'll—"

She stopped suddenly, her voice cracking over the raptor's name. Allen was beginning to feel that restless energy transfer to him now and he wanted nothing more than to do something other than stand here. Ash waited and took another deep breath before pushing forward.

"Luna will come back. It might be a while, and I don't like having the pack's numbers down like this, but…she'll come back. That's just the nature of this fucked up island. Anything that's resided here for too long, it eventually comes back after dying, good as new."

"But you're still upset," he stated, eyes watching her rigid frame carefully. She was pent up with too much energy, but at the same time, he could tell that exhaustion was worming its way deep into her bones and counteracting that. She wanted to move and do something other than sit there, but there was the grief and lethargy to contend with as well. It left her at a kind of middle ground.

Ash balled up her hands into fists and snapped, " _Of_ _course_ I'm upset, I just lost one of my fastest runners!" She glared at him as she spoke, her jaw gritted tightly. Allen couldn't hold her gaze. There was more she wasn't saying, there almost always was. Things she wasn't ready to say or admit out loud, but the words were there, lurking in the silence. He stood his ground, but a part of him withered a little inside.

 _She does blame me. She doesn't want to, but a part of her does._

"But that's not the only reason why I'm upset."

He slowly lifted his eyes back up to meet hers, and he was surprised when he saw concern written on her face. He waited and his patience paid off.

"I'm still trying to figure out how a bunch of dead book characters came to life and ended up on this island."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Ash's book collection was growing rather extensively. She even began carving into the stone walls with her claws in the last year, chipping away at stone and shale to create a spontaneous bookshelf, right into the walls to accommodate.

With that said, Ash already knew what book to choose and she plucked it straight from shelf, its spine as faded as the rest of its papery brethren. The hard cover was plain, worn out, and dirtied from the years, but it was otherwise in passably decent condition.

' _The Hobbit_ ' was written in peeling gold lettering and the author's name was underneath: ' _J.R.R. Tolkien_ '.

Ash deftly turned pages too quickly for Allen to discern even a single line until she stopped on one page and pointed at a word with her claw. "Fili and Kili." She moved down the page. "Thorin."

Allen stared over the page, mouthing the names as he haltingly read them over and over. He was awed for a moment, before a frown tugged at his lips.

"That…can't be right. Book characters coming to life? That's impossible."

"Oh? Then what about that asshole, Azog?"

She turned to another page, and this one was dog-eared already. She stopped and stabbed at a paragraph several times.

"Azog the Defiler."

"They called him that, I remember now." Allen furrowed his brow, puzzled and more than a little troubled. "But this is impossible…book characters from stories _can't_ be real."

"Right. Like werewolves aren't real, and storms controlled by undead bitches don't exist either."

She was watching him from the corner of her eyes, a brow ticked upward and he groaned. Allen ran a hand over his face.

"Fine, point taken."

"Damn right, point taken. Don't sit there and deny my friggin' logic. I sat up all night reading this thing, cover to cover, trying to see if I was wrong, but…I don't think I am. Wish I had Tolkien's Simarillion, though. I hear that's got some great background on this 'Verse." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyes once more locked on the book as she read through the lines. "I don't know anything anymore, I don't think. This is just all kinds of fucked up. Fucking orcs and dwarves and-and hobbits and all this shit can kiss my ass."

Without fanfare, she snapped the book shut and tossed it back onto the shelf.

"I'm done thinking about it, period. They're not here anymore, and I have an island to survey. I didn't get much of a chance to see how much damage Himiko's done to Yamatai." She scowled as she spoke, her lips peeled back to show off a little fang. "That means less food for the herbivores, and that means less choice in hunting for us and the predators…she threw this island into chaos with that little temper tantrum of hers. God-fucking-dammit…"

She was starting to get itchy-fingered and twitchy. He recognized that much. When Ash got like that, things got messy and in hurry. He carefully looped a hand around her wrist, just enough to gather her attention and it was an almost instantaneous reaction when he did. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and he was nearly taken aback by the twin gold irises staring back at him. He slowly and carefully detached his hand from her, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"It'd probably be better if we went together this time. The air's cleared up in the last few days. I think it'd be safe enough for me to go without needing a mask of some sort. What do you say?"

She studied him for an agonizingly long minute, but it was worth the wait. Slowly, the golden colour in her right eye bled out, giving way to the familiar cool, stormy blue-grey he was more used to.

"Fine. Just…a quick look around. Observe the heavily afflicted areas from a distance, the less-nasty looking ones a little closer. Should be able to get that all done in a few days, if we're lucky. Pack up, we'll leave in twenty."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The next week was as close to hell as he could imagine it. The island was a damaged mess all around. Most of the vegetation was gone, what few traversable paths that had existed had either been destroyed or were impossible to access, the predator-prey dynamic has drastically decreased on all fronts, and what few surviving Solarii were in a frenzy all around. It was like ants scrambling after a flood and he lost count after the first dozen firefights they had gotten into.

It was a sweet relief to return home, if only to get out of the muddied clothing he had to endure in the last few days. Ash didn't seem to be in quite as big a rush as him to get out of her own soiled clothes, and more focused on marking down all the discrepancies and changes they've encountered. It was only when he dragged her away after he had finished did she finally relent to do so herself.

"For chrissakes, calm down, I'm going, I'm going!"

"Well, go a little quicker; you're filthy and getting mud soaked in the couch. I have to sit there too, I'll have you know."

"Oh dear, how sad for you. You have to endure a little _mud_. What a tragedy. No, really, I should break out the world's smallest violin and start playing you a little tune to reflect this momentously heart-breaking affair."

"I'm sure there's some blood mixed in there somewhere, too, so yes, very tragic. I don't like blood on the couch. Go on, now. I'll grab you some clean clothes," he simply said in response, unable to completely hide the small grin that was tugging at his lips. She muttered under her breath about wanting to finish her maps, but she relented after one last gentle shove he gave her toward the washing cave.

Knowing her, she'd be taking a while and he didn't really envy her. Washing out all that dirt and grit from her waist-length hair was going to be enough of a pain, never mind all the fur on her tail. He was prepared to wait and let her do her thing. What he wasn't prepared for was, twenty minutes later, a sudden shriek from the washing cave and a towel-clad, soaking wet werewolf to come barreling out with a manic grin on her face moments later.

"I know what we can do to bypass the whole problematic dynamic!"

One, he didn't want to get his clean dry clothes wet, so he took a step or two back. Two, he wanted Ash to not run around naked except for the towel wrapped around her that had honestly seen better days. Unfortunately, as of recently, "Things Allen Wanted" didn't seem to add up to "Things That Will Gladly Go the Way Allen Hoped It Would For Once".

Allen quickly averted his eyes, pointedly staring anywhere that wasn't in Ash's direction. Sadly, he wished he could say there was much left to the imagination, but that particular towel _really_ had seen better days. He wasn't wholeheartedly naïve and innocent when it came to the other sex, but the least he could do was be respectful, and well…not look.

Which is more than he could say about certain _other_ pain-in-the-ass, gun-toting individuals he's come to know in his life.

"No, stop that, I'm serious! I know how to fix this!"

He froze at that, blinking in surprise before slowly craning his neck to look at her. Just her face. Nowhere else. She was grinning at him, her mismatched eyes bright and excited, even if she had her thick hair plastered all over her face. He resisted the urge to swipe it all down, to get it out of her face, and was relieved when she finally did it herself.

"I can reset the island. All the buildings, the paths, the vegetation lost to the fires, the animals—I can get it all back to the way it was. I can get Luna back quicker!"

Elation just about nearly filled him to the core, but it a poisonous thought tainted it just as quickly.

"But that would mean bringing back Himiko."

Her smile dropped and so did her eyes. Her shoulders slumped while the hand holding her towel up at her chest curled inward a little more tightly.

"That's…that's the downside."

"That would also mean bringing back the Solarii and the Oni again."

She sighed, pulling the fabric taut against her. "Okay. Another downside. I know it's not ideal, but neither is letting this island become an even bigger graveyard."

The words ' _not again_ ' hung heavily in the air, unspoken but they were there all the same.

He thought back to what she'd said about the dynamics of the island. The vegetation was very nearly destroyed all over the island. The herbivores needed a large source of it to survive. Sure, the predators would eventually have weakened prey to take down, but when the rest of the herds followed, they would rot to the point that not even the scavengers would eat them. The surviving Solarii would also lose out on sources of food. The Oni would eventually lose theirs. The entire island would slowly waste away and the only creatures that could safely leave or even benefit from the eventual fallout would be the birds and the insects.

The only way he could actually agree on, even if reluctantly, was to reset the island.

Allen nodded. "Do it. We can deal with the backlash afterwards."

There was a hesitant relief that dawned on her face, slowly but surely. There was caution lining her expression though, lingering still.

"You know what that backlash entails to," she said softly.

He pursed his lips and exhaled slowly, nodding. "I know."

Ash hesitated, looking torn between the words she wanted to say. What they were, he had a semblance of a clue, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. It was probably why he was more surprised by her next words than anything as she turned on her pawed heel. "I'll try not to kill them if I don't have to. But Mathias has got to go."

She left with that hanging in the air between them.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The sea was the colour of an uninviting gunmetal grey. The waters were cold, the air was cold…everything just felt _cold_. The island seemed to be draped in a faint aftertaste of death that just wouldn't leave, and it was starting to settle in his bones. Even wrapped in layers, he wasn't feeling any warmer, now that he was alone. Standing next to Ash was like standing next to a living furnace. He was beginning to miss her warm presence.

Apprehension was gnawing at his gut as he watched Ash shrinking in the distance, paddling out on a raft made of crude driftwood. The progress was slow with the waters choppy and impeding her path. But she was determined and bulldogged her way through the waves. Only when she was just barely visible did it grow concerning. The waves were growing bigger. More determined to herd her back into the bay and toward the island. Ash defiantly pushed onward.

The waves continued to grow. The sky, already a deep grey with the overcast clouds, suddenly darkened until it was almost as if night had fallen. Thunder rumbled above the beach, a deep rolling growl that continued on and on and on. Allen couldn't see her anymore. The sea had grown as dark the clouds and her form was gone between the rising valleys and mountains made by the water.

The seawaters rose and suddenly, it was like a hand swatting away at the surface of the sea and at the same time, he heard a voice cry out in the skies above. Lightning forked its way across the skies, stabbing into the sea with a brilliant silvery light. He didn't catch what the voice said, but he saw the sea erupt in a gushing torrent before everything began to settle. The sea calmed, the clouds lightened up, and everything was as it was before the sudden violence.

He stared out, eyes frantically scanning the water, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. There was no sign of Ash. He saw something bobbing along out there, and a small ray of hope welled inside him before he realized it was the driftwood raft. It had broken into pieces, he realized as he began to notice other bobbing little somethings. Dread wormed its way into his gut, tying up into hard little knots until it felt like something was eating away at him.

 _She's done this before,_ he kept telling himself. _Ash knows what she's doing. She's reset the island before. This is probably normal._

The word ' _probably_ ' struck him hard. He's never actually seen her reset Yamatai. She's talked about it in the past, true enough. Hearing about it and seeing it for himself were two completely different things.

It dawned on him that the most he could do was wait and watch. He hated the waiting. He hated watching the pieces of driftwood either float away from sight or slowly be pulled back to the beaches. He hated being the one left to wait idly by, twiddling his thumbs, feeling utterly and completely useless because there was little he else he could do to help.

He was nothing more but a ball of worried, frayed nerves curled in on himself for what felt like hours when he heard the sound of retching and frantic coughing somewhere close by. He searched and searched until he caught a flurry of movement near the docks, flailing arms and a body dragging itself onto the sands. Allen leapt down onto the beach, rolling into the fall and quickly meeting the now-collapsed prone form of Ash. Foamy waves rolled over her legs and stopped at her waist, turning a frothy pink near her foot.

She was laughing when he trotted over and she threw a fist in the air.

"Whoo! Fuck you, ocean! Eat a bag of dicks!"

"What happened to you? I was waiting for you to surface, but you never did!"

"Oh, piece of shrapnel from a sunken boat; seafloor's littered with them. I'm good, I just gotta yank it out." Ash groaned and rolled to her side and sat up, pulling her foot up to view. Lodged through was a piece of rusted, pitted metal, the edges jagged and quickly stained red with gore and blood. Allen's stomach churned at the sight. She hissed quietly under her breath, wincing as she poked and prodded.

"I got caught on one of the wrecks and couldn't get myself free so I had to break the part I was stuck on, piece by piece as I made my way over." She stifled a whine as she gave an experimental tug. "Oh, this is gonna _suck_ …"

"Here, let me help—" He moved forward, reaching for the metal, but she jerked it away from his reach, pushing him away with her free hand.

"Nooooope, this thing is riddled with a whole lot of nasty that I can't fix if you get hurt. It's not just a cut you'd have to contend with if that happens; tetanus, blood poisoning, infection, just to name a few, and there's a lot more that I don't even know about off the top of my head. Nor am I medically trained to know." She sighed as she gingerly turned her pawed foot over. "And I don't have the meds to compete with that if you got hurt. We've got limited stock. Just let me do my thing. I'll heal up and then we'll go home. Okay?"

Allen hesitated, wanting to argue, but the softer tone she took gave him pause. Her voice brooked no room for argument like usual, and yet…there was something else there too, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Reluctantly, he sighed and stepped back.

"All right. Just try not to hurt yourself any more than you already do."

She snorted. "Yeah, it's a bit late for that."

Turning her attention back to the shrapnel in her foot, gripped what she could in one hand and took a long, deep breath. With an abrupt jerk, she yanked it out and, predictably, began cursing up a storm.

Allen sighed before helping drag her out of the waters just as she began muttering dark promises of retributions to all the sunken wrecks hiding beneath the waves. But, most of all, she kept cursing Himiko's name with her usual string of insults. For some strange, unexplainable reason, that brought a small smile to his lips.

Typical.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

True to Ash's word, all the damage that had been sustained over the entirety of the island had completely reset itself to its former glory.

If one could call it glory. Allen would call it a congregation of wrecks and ruins, but that was just him. He hadn't noticed any of it at first, not when he was busy attending to helping Ash, making sure no other shrapnel was left in her foot before they left the beach.

It took a week for everything to settle back to normal, although the Solarii and the other residents were none the wiser to the changes. In the interim, Luna had returned, true to Ash's predictions and elation. Her nerves seemed settled after laying eyes on the Dakotaraptor's visage after she returned from her interlude in dispatching Himiko. The strained, taut energy that had wound its way throughout home had eased up considerably, and it actually felt safe to freely _breathe_.

Ash kept Luna around for another week or so, but once the raptor started to feel antsy and cooped up, she was left to find the pack and run loose along the island. Outside, the air was growing colder.

"It's getting close to winter," Ash said absently as she nursed a warm cup of tea. Allen had come to find she wasn't much of a tea person, but around the colder days, she always craved something hot. She would grudgingly stick with the tea, as she wanted to reserve her limited stock of coffee for special days. It wasn't in his particular tastes, either, but he liked a tad more than she did.

"We should probably start stocking up on more wood, then." He glanced over toward the wall where they stored their firewood and motioned to it when she glanced his way. "We're getting low enough as it is, anyway."

She craned her neck to view the wall herself, humming softly and settled back onto the couch, taking a sip from her cup.

"We'll go in the morning, then. It's getting dark out right about now." With that said, she drained the last dregs in her cup, paused to eye the emptied inside and set it on the table after. "And we should probably restock our pantry."

The pantry was one of the additions they had gained since the benders had come through. It held a lot more food, and it served as a great storage unit for it all: from the meats being hung to cure and be turned into jerky, to the plants hanging from the ceiling, or the preserved canned goods and dry foods from the boat. The last he checked, they were indeed running low. She fell quiet after that, but it felt unusual, worried. Brooding, even. Her typical energy was lacking and it concerned him. She was actually sitting still. No fidgeting hands were seeking to do something, whether it was crafting something new or repairing something worn. In fact, she'd been like this most of the day.

When he sat beside her, she barely noticed, not until he gently prodded her shoulder. She hardly reacted to that, just giving him a scant glance, her lips pursing together and her brow knit closely into a furrow.

"Are you all right?" She looked ready to spout off her usual tirade and he pointed at her, stopping her words. "And don't tell me you're fine. You're not. You're actually sitting still and not doing anything at all. In fact, you've been like that all day."

Ash clacked her jaw shut, and he saw it twitch slightly. The gears were turning in her head, but what she was thinking, it could have been anyone's guess. She finally averted her gaze, slumping in her seat.

"You've been here five years, as of today."

He stared at her, uncomprehending at first. It dawned on him slowly, but surely.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and exhaled long and slow and quietly. Her lips were still pursed into a tight, thin line. Next thing, she'd probably start chewing on them and he wished time and again that she wouldn't do that…

"Yeah, I…started keeping track of things and paying closer attention to the days since you got here. At first, I wanted to see how long it took for you to finally go 'peace I'm out' and leave, but after a while…" She shrugged, catching his eye for only a moment. "I started keeping track because…it felt important. I don't know how long I've been here, I've lost track of so much time, so many years because it didn't feel important anymore, but now it…it does."

She stopped there and waited, and it was with baited breath, trying to assess how he'd react. It was as though she was waiting to see if her response was going to ignite something with him, but she wasn't entirely sure what it would be. Her entire body was edgy, he noticed, from the straight line of her back to the jutting curve of her shoulders. It was as though she was weighing her options between fight-or-flight and was leaning toward the latter.

When he offered her a tentative smile, some of the tension bled out of her frame, but not quite all of it. She was still charged with enough energy for a good leap well away from him.

"I can't say it's been an easy time, for either of us, but at least neither of us was alone for it."

When he offered his hand to her, she stared blankly for only a moment, like it was a foreign object. After a moment's consideration, she slid her hand into his and he gently curled his fingers inward over hers, warmth radiating from her hand and right up into his. If he had shown this kind of gesture to her years ago, she wouldn't have responded at all, except to maybe get up and walk away. How much has changed. He barely noticed when he began to absently run his thumb along the back of her hand.

"I'll be honest, I never expected for my life to end up with me being here. I always expected…something else. I thought, at the very least, the Secret War would be over and after that…" He hesitated, thoughts coming to a standstill. He had never really thought about the aftermath of the war. What would he have been doing, if things had gone the way he had been hoping? There would be no need for Exorcists or the Black Order. Time and again, he thought of it, but never in great detail. Never for an extended period of time.

He had to remind himself that he wasn't there anymore. He couldn't go back, no matter how much he wanted, no matter how much he wished to. He was here, and he was lucky to have a friend here too, instead of being completely and utterly alone. His world was gone, swept away in the past. The thought depressed him a bit more than he cared to admit.

Ash waited for him to speak and he realized rather belatedly he had fallen completely silent in the interim of his thoughts. Allen cleared his throat. "Sorry. I just…lost track of what I was saying. Ah." He grinned sheepishly at her. "Thank you. For letting me stay, I mean. I still can't believe it's been five years. It's a bit surreal to think about."

And it really was. Five years? The time didn't seem to add up, but in the end, it did. He really has been here for five years.

"I technically didn't let you stay," Ash pointed out. "You chose to stay. I just gave you a room to use."

He laughed softly at that. "Regardless, I'm still thanking you, you can't stop me from doing that either." He gave her hand a squeeze, only then just realizing he was still holding it. She hadn't pulled away yet and he was reluctant to let go. _Just a little longer._

"And I want to work on my promise to you. To find a way we can both leave. Together."

She almost pulled away, but stopped when he held onto her hand, just a little tighter, to remind her he was still there, he wasn't going anywhere and she stopped. She didn't try to snatch herself away like she probably would have done a year ago, two years ago, definitely five years ago. She stopped, held still, watching him with guarded eyes. He couldn't tell if she was being completely skeptical in her silence or if she was weighing whether it was a valid task either of them could undertake.

"I'm not leaving until then," he pressed on adamantly. She frowned.

"That could take years. It's been hundreds for me. It's been five for you. We're not any closer today than we were yesterday or I was years ago."

"You don't know that. And I'm not going to give up." He gave her hand another gentle squeeze. "You shouldn't either."

Ash continued watching him, and he saw the doubt welling up in her face, pooling up in her eyes, could already hear the protests building up in her head and forming words on her lips. He promptly put his other hand over her mouth and the effect was immediate. Ash's shoulders slumped, her ears fell down against her head, and she stared at him with the obvious question of, ' _Are you_ serious _right now?_ '

He smiled. "No. No more 'buts' regarding it. I realize it's a bit of a task, but I don't think it's impossible. We just…have to figure something else out that you haven't tried. Okay?"

Ash made quite a show of rolling her eyes, but she nodded all the same, reached up and tugged his hand down.

"Fine, Mr. Optimism. We'll try things your way. Which, by the way…do you even have a plan?"

"Erm…not yet…" He scratched the back of his head, feeling more than a little embarrassed and it reflected even more so in his stilted laugh. "But, I'm sure we'll figure something out! I just wish I could access the Ark here; it'd make things a lot easier…"

He saw the light of recognition in her eyes when he mentioned the Ark, but she chose not to comment on it. She still had his hand clasped in hers; his left hand, he belatedly noticed and she was staring at the cross embedded in the back of it, at the glint of the Innocence there.

"It could take _years_ ," she repeated more stringently. "Why are you wasting your time on one person like this? On _me_?"

When she met his gaze, her eyes were searching, frantic for an answer, but what it was, he didn't know exactly. What did she want him to say?

He carefully extricated both his hands from hers and cupped her face again.

"Because you're my friend. I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't like giving up on my friends." He grinned suddenly and he could tell that alone threw her off by a mile. "Besides, someone has to help patch you up when you can't do it yourself. And I have to make sure the first thing you get when we're off this island is tiramisu!"

She looked appropriately startled at his declaration and it was what he was aiming for. He didn't want her brooding anymore; the grim, uncertain look on her face didn't suit her. Slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she was relaxed, _finally_. She had been nothing but a ball of pent up tension most of the day, especially in the last hour.

"Fine. Your optimism wins this round," she relented with a soft laugh. "I still expect a plan in the near future."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied dryly with a faint smile in return. Carefully, she reached up and tugged one of his hands down and he belatedly realized he was still holding her, had leaned in so close, he was completely enveloped in the radius of the natural heat she emitted. It was refreshing compared to the chill of the rest of the cave, except by the fire, of course.

She didn't pull his other hand away, he noticed. She had her hand still pinned on top of his, keeping it in place where it rested, cupping her face. Her eyes slid shut and she sighed.

"I refuse to forget another person. I refuse to let go of this. I'm not letting it happen anymore. I _won't_ let it."

She squeezed his hand, and when she opened her eyes, they were both blazing hot gold, a pair of twin flames beating back the dark. There was a steely, adamant determination lining her face—from the set of her jaw to the crinkle near the top of her nose that was slight snarl, he could believe in what she was saying. If he cracked open a dictionary and looked up the word 'resolute', he was pretty sure a picture of her face as it was in that moment would be right beside it. There was more steely resolve in her want to keep her memories intact than with getting off the island, but it was something he hadn't quite seen before until now.

"I don't know why this place makes me forget. Or maybe I just let myself forget, but I don't want to anymore. I don't—" She faltered, her hand squeezing his tighter. "I don't want to forget _you_."

He wasn't sure who had leaned in first. One moment, he was taken aback by her statement, a half-smile curving his lips upwards, the next he was breathing in her scent—

( _pine sap, sea salt, campfire wood smoke, so vivid and heady and all rolled into one_ )

—and her lips—

( _surprisingly soft, so inviting and hot to the touch, he was sharing a kiss with fire incarnate_ )

—were pressed flush to his. And she wasn't pulling away or tearing herself from him like the last time. The weight of her pressed up against him, a constant, a steady wave of heat enveloping him like always when he was close, but he never knew she was this _soft_. He was used to thinking of her as lean and hard, lined with nothing but toned muscle. Not supple and soft to the touch like she was now, not pliable enough to mold itself against another body. And against _his body_ , no less.

He didn't focus on that as much as he did the feel of one of her hands threading through his hair, making his scalp tingle pleasantly, or the way her other hand clutched at his shirt, keeping him pinned close. He pulled away for a moment, if only to breathe but it was short-lived and he was diving back in again, tentative and slow. She, in turn, was more active, now tugging at his shirt with a restless and renewed energy. He was late in realizing what she intended and she already had ripped his shirt, much to his dismay.

She pulled away long enough to mutter in apology, "I can fix that later," before pressing her lips against his again and he was enveloped in another wave of warmth. Her fingers traced light patterns against his exposed flesh, thin trails of pleasing heat carving their way across his chest, past the massive scar across his body and a satisfying shudder trailed down his spine in response.

A part of him had wanted this for some time now, even if he wanted to quash the desire, stamp it out of existence—especially after the last time. He had wanted to respect she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of a relationship beyond what they had, but now…

A part of him wanted to give in. He wanted to have the taste of her to linger on his lips, to feel her bare skin pressed up against his…

That thought stood out so vividly and suddenly that he pulled away abruptly, clutching at her shoulders to keep her at arm's length at the same time as he caught his breath.

"What changed?" He asked, and he sounded breathless as he met her startled, wide-eyed gaze. He tried to glean an answer from her eyes—mismatched now, one blue-grey like the stormy sea, the other a lively gold, both touched with a fevered light in them—but there was nothing yielding. She was looking back at him in that same searching manner, her hands gently resting on his forearms, and she actually looked properly stunned. It dawned on him that she didn't know any more than he did.

"Does it matter?" She softly countered. He could think a little straighter now and the longer he had a grasp on clarity—

( _don't think about the way her fingers had danced across bare skin, the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the way she had felt pressed close_ )

—the more he had time to pull together coherent thoughts. And the more Allen watched her, the more he could see building up behind her eyes, the more he could make out. A lump grew in his throat when he saw something he least expected, not just in her eyes, but the way she was holding herself now. Drawn up shoulders, stiff body, all sharp angles and leaning toward one conclusion: get ready to run.

He's rarely seen that look of worry and utter distress on her face and it was slowly being etched into her features now. Allen tried to relax, hoping she'd mirror him.

"It should matter," he replied quietly. "It shouldn't be some spur-of-the-moment thing based on a split-second decision."

Her words came back with an echo, tainting his thoughts. " _You_ _are trying to pry open a door that can't be closed once it is opened._ "

The bitter irony struck him hard because he honestly couldn't recall who had initiated it this time. Had he leaned in first, like the last time, or had she beaten him to the punch?

"What is it you want? What changed?"

She studied him and the open blankness was rather new. The tension and stress that usually marred her face, the guardedness she kept up everyone else and even around him was gone. He probably would have failed to lie if someone asked him then and there if he thought Ash looked beautiful to him in that moment. Her hair, usually swept back and tied up, tumbled messily over her shoulders and down her back, thick mahogany tresses tipped in vermillion. Shorter tufts lined her brow and framed her face, brushing against her high cheekbones. There was one particular strand that was sitting just off kilter to her left eye and he swept it away without thinking. He tried not to focus on the painfully earnest way she looked at him, staying still like a deer frozen in lamplight as he did.

His gaze traced over her lips and he recalled with vivid lucidity the way they had burned against his like liquid fire and a part of him ached to taste them again. He tried to ignore the way it made his heart beat twice as fast just thinking about it.

"I don't know anymore," she finally answered, her voice quiet and soft. So unlike her. Too small. Her voice was too small and quiet and reserved. It didn't suit her any more than the fear colouring her eyes. Her hands still gripped his forearms and they squeezed him, gently, carefully, mindful of the claws tipping her fingers—

( _those had been surprisingly gratifying to feel, the way they had gently raked along his skin, carving invisible lines in the wake of the heat her fingers left_ )

"—but I want to believe in that promise, I want to believe that _for once_ , I might get off this fucking hellhole, and that I might…" She stopped herself short, taking in a long, shuddering breath. She squeezed him a little harder, her brows knitting together as she looked at him again, searching. "I want to believe that so much, it _hurts_. I want to believe I'm not a worthless case and that I might have a chance—I actually want to _hope_. And it's all your fault."

The way she spat out the last few words, it didn't sound like an accusation. It certainly didn't sound like she was placing blame, either. It sounded more like… _gratitude_.

He offered a faint smile, as the tension in her frame that had her drawn taut and ready to spring at any given moment finally left her. The anxiety and dread that riddled her mismatched eyes was fading, leaving behind faint traces of apprehension, an uncertainty in traversing into uncharted waters, but there was hope left behind. A growing well of confidence that bolstered him as well.

"And…us?" Allen pressed tentatively. There was still that matter and ignoring it could only go on for so long. He didn't want to risk tearing apart the relationship they already had preserved between them, but it was a question he both needed and dreaded asking. She watched him for a long while, and there she went, she began nibbling at her lower lip. He had to resist from stopping her, even though if he didn't, she'd eventually bite through and then she'd be bleeding…

Thankfully, she stopped shortly after starting, if only to answer.

"I think I want to try."

He didn't protest when she rushed forward this time, her lips crashing into his and that intoxicating aroma of hers— _pinesapseasaltwoodsmoke_ —came assailing him in a welcome flash, the feel of her hands pawing at him and his at hers in return, her heat flushing into him. He quickly found himself fumbling along the further it went, his inexperience becoming rather painfully obvious, but she was slow in return, patient, guiding. She halted in her earlier fevered energy in lieu of slower responses. Allen couldn't recall when or how they managed it, but they were suddenly in his room, the both of them already half-undressed, with her underneath him on his bed. He shivered with every swipe of her fingers across his bare skin and every time she exhaled a whimpering moan because of what he did to her…

Well, it certainly meant he must be doing _something_ right.

He reveled in how it felt to have Ash's body pressed to his, the air electric between them. When her clothes were finally torn away, he could see the scars on Ash more clearly, most of them pale rakes torn asunder across her body. He traced the pads of his fingers across one of them, just above her navel, while his eyes trailed up to meet hers. He could already see the answers etched in her face to the unspoken question he had on his lips. She didn't remember where she'd gotten them from and asking wasn't going to make the memories magically appear. And frankly, this probably wasn't the time to be asking anyway. He chose not to voice it and instead dipped his head down to meet his lips with hers.

Allen groaned when she bucked her hips upwards against his, exhaling sharply at the sudden flare of his arousal. When he pulled away just enough to look in her eyes, he was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded when he asked, "What now?"

It was difficult to push aside the way his body thrummed with anticipation, or the way his heart was beating so fast. He tried to keep his focus on Ash's face, on her eyes. He could see flecks of amber in the stormy blue-grey one, but he couldn't tell if it was the wolf in her rising or if they were natural speckles. Ash raised herself up just enough to brush her lips against his, fleeting and chaste, before turning her head toward his ear just enough to say quietly, "It's your choice."

The door had been thrown wide open at her words that had been uttered almost akin to an invitation.

He hesitated, only briefly, with his hands on her thighs, holding her tight and he was startled when she slowly lifted one of her legs, hooking it against his hip. It was the last push he needed before he was diving back into her scent, her warmth, the need to feel her skin gliding against his. He let off another groan when her hips bucked against his again, a pleasant shudder racing all over him, both from the way she had rubbed against his length and at the way her hands wandered and explored, tracing searing patterns on his skin.

When he finally slipped inside her, he took a moment to revel in the feeling of her around him, tight and warm and moist. His awe was short-lived and it quickly turned to raw hunger, a sudden need to keep going. He rocked his hips into hers, relishing in the soft whimpers and moans she made as she moved with him. A ragged groan escaped past his lips as he gathered her up closer to him, his face buried against her neck.

The mix of her scent, of crushed pine and wood smoke and the hint of sea salt, was more potent up close. It was dizzying and intoxicating, and it brought out a single thought, a brief moment of clarity and possessiveness that punched through: _Mine_.

Ash was his and his alone.

The way Ash whispered his name in his ear was almost like a prayer, a plea that urged him to keep going. He obliged, slowly increasing his pace. She knotted her fingers through his hair, moments before she stiffened and arched into him, a wordless cry on her lips as she reached her climax. It didn't take him much longer to follow her example, teetering on the edge until release, riding down his spine like liquid fire.

The minutes ticked by as they lay there afterwards, winding down and catching their breath. She stirred after some time, if only to twist around from her side and entangle her legs with his, curling into him with her face buried into the crook of his neck. Ash's breathe came in soft ghostly puffs, tickling against his skin. He didn't want to move, didn't want to be the one to end the moment. He wanted it to linger as long as possible, to cling to the feeling of contentedness. Allen draped an arm across her back, pinning her closer still, his fingers tangling in her hair. The blankets were still kicked to the side, but they didn't need them. Ash was warm enough for the both of them.

Allen could already tell she was asleep and he was halfway there. He let his thoughts drift until they scattered like embers in the wind and eventually he was gone and asleep as well.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two: Dust and Light

**Chapter Twenty-Two:  
Dust and Light**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _"Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

 _And you, my father, there on the sad height,_  
 _Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray._  
 _Do not go gentle into that good night._  
 _Rage, rage against the dying of the light."_  
 **-Excerpt of " _Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night_ " by Dylan Thomas**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The weeks seemed to crawl past at a snail's pace lately. Winter continued to creep up just as slowly, but its advance was apparent regardless. The chill in the air lingered longer, leaving them to breathe out mist with every exhalation. Heavy furs were needed to keep the cold at bay, at least for him. Ash never needed them for herself, but she had plenty to spare for him. Still, even wearing the furs didn't come close in comparison when he was sitting side-by-side to the werewolf.

Snow never seemed to fall naturally on Yamatai. It only occurred when Himiko was a present entity and at the moment, he was grateful she wasn't. But now it was cold enough to make him wish it would. He was just glad Ash hadn't forced him out to go hunting again.

The last time that happened, he couldn't very well hold his bow, never mind loose an arrow. His fingers had turned completely numb, useless things that couldn't even twinge the barest movement to pull and release a bowstring. Ash was so much smaller, she should be the one struggling, but she had that internal heat, an eternal fire burning away at her core, burning her up from the inside out and keeping her blissfully warm. She was so much warmer than anyone her size had any right to be, almost feverish to the touch if one didn't know any better. She should be brain dead from the constant, sweltering her body goes through, but she lived, moved, breathed, existed just fine. Her biology in comparison to his was unique to her, just as his was unique in comparison to hers.

Komui and the others at the Science Department would have loved to know how she did it. They would have wanted to know how she could coexist with such a volatile element and not burn up just by breathing, never mind when she willed the fire into existence. He knew that he was still amazed when she let it dance across her skin without any repercussions. He was even more amazed when she changed its colours and shapes to imitate actual life.

Ash would probably have hated being poked and prodded by anyone, and he could only imagine the kind of chaos she would unleash if they tried.

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. The more he thought about it, the more he hated this rift between his old life and this new one. She wasn't an Exorcist, but she sure as hell could have fought in their ranks like one. She didn't have Innocence, but she had fire. She had strength and heart and she was changing. Five years ago, she had been cold and aloof. No real obligation for morals other than 'protect by any means necessary' and 'any means' meant killing those she had deemed a valid threat indiscriminately. Without question, without remorse.

Today, she would hesitate. She would the Solarii go, she actually spared them, has told them to run with a nasty bark in her voice and a promise of violence in her words, but she never gave chase any longer.

Not if she didn't have to.

Her reputation alone was enough send them scurrying away like rats into the dark and screaming in terror. They might not fully remember everything, having been reset too many times, but instinct led them away as quickly as their legs could carry them.

It was enough for her these days.

And it was enough for the Solarii as well, to a degree. There were still the itchy-finger, trigger-happy idiots who fired at them on sight most of the time. However, without Mathias or the Russians instigating and enforcing 'kill on sight', the Solarii were happy to simply let them pass through unharmed. They were edgy and guarded, but oddly respectful in keeping their distance from either him or Ash without violent leadership and influence.

It was a strained kind of truce, but a truce nonetheless. At the very least, he didn't quite fear the idea of getting shot in the back as much or as often while they traversed the island at this point in time.

He was actually fairly proud of her.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Checkmate."

He stared at the board in dismay, at the arrangement of the pieces, and glowered at the overly cheery-faced werewolf sitting across from him.

"You cheated."

"I would never. You're just terrible at strategic games, like chess." Ash said in a syrupy sweet voice as she reached over the board and plucked his king's piece up, wagging it in her fingers. She was still wearing that smug smile on her face. "I annihilate at this game. You haven't won once!"

"That's because you use dirty tactics. And I'm rather good at chess."

"Right. I use dirty tactics, just like you cheat at poker." She snorted and he scowled, crossing his arms, tilting his head back. "But oh, _wait_. You _don't_ cheat. Therefore, I don't use dirty tactics. I'm just better at strategy than I am at games aimed for _luck_."

Ash smiled sweetly. He scowled a little. She began resetting the board, dexterous hands guiding every piece with practiced ease. The pawns, the knights, the rooks, the bishops, the queens and kings were all lined up accordingly to their places. More often than naught, he ended up with the white pieces and she the black. A touch of irony, that. She gave him the first move and yet, she still killed at the game.

Just as she was finished, he reached for her hand to still her, if only for a moment. She looked up, head tilting to the side questioningly at him.

"Why don't we try another game? We've already played three times."

"Sore loser, are we?" Ash chortled, a slow crooked smile perking her lips up. "Now you know how I feel going up against your demon card skills."

He sniffed pointedly. "It's not my fault you've no sense for the game. You're hopeless, even with help."

" _You_ are a terrible teacher. And you're teaching me poorly on purpose so I have no chances of playing against you at a fair advantage." Ash countered with another snort, withdrawing her hand back to her side of the board. He sighed and shrugged.

"A different game?" He pressed. "You have several others, I've seen the boxes." He paused and added as an afterthought, "Just not Monopoly. Anything that doesn't require owing money."

He was still unsure how she did it with that game. How she managed to play circles around him at a game that _literally had no end_. He should be good at a game that handled debt, and yet, she played him for a chump. How in the hell did she do it? Especially when she had no one to play against except for him!

"Geez. You still hung up on our last game? That Cross guy must've fucked you up if you're still worried about all that. You do realize that all of the proprietors he went around racking up debt with and shoving your name on the bill to pay back are dead now, right? You know that you don't owe anyone any money right now, right? You have no debt attached to your name."

Ash waved her open-palmed hand in an arc in front of him as she said this, her voice taking on a strange monotonous tone. It did little to relieve him. She also sounded and looked rather silly.

Allen groaned and put his face in his hands, suddenly feeling sick. "No Monopoly. Never again, please. I know that it's fake money, but please…just no Monopoly."

"…Jesus, he _really_ fucked you up. Remind me to not get you a credit card if we ever get off this rock."

"What's a credit card?"

"Hoo, boy…"

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Have you tried talking with her?"

"Are you kidding me right now? I'm not being facetious either, by the way. In case you were wondering."

"I'm serious, Ash—have you ever tried talking to Himiko?"

"Oh, you're serious." She blinked at him. "You really were serious. Okay, no, I haven't. I'm not talking to that undead psycho bitch. You wanna know why? This is why: it's because she has, on multiple occasions, tried to fry me with lightning, drown me in the ocean, throw me off cliffs and into open air, and has had her clutches on the goddamned Oni for centuries and they ain't any better! You try talking to those samurai assholes and find a middle ground with them, which, surprise! You can't. They have a completely separate, archaic way of thinking compared to Westerners—that's us—and they've been steeped in their ancient culture for the self-same centuries and are _utterly_ _opposed_ to change. Have you ever seen an Oni with a shotgun or a rifle? I sure as hell haven't and holy Christ, stick your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye the day they do, because hell will have frozen over because holy shit, they're changing—"

"Okay, okay! I think I've got the picture. Talking, apparently, is out of the question."

 _Talking to Himiko, that is,_ he thought with a faint bemused smile. She seemed to have no problems talking with _him_ now.

"Yeah, also…try talking to a corpse. They're not exactly chatterboxes."

"But wait—what about her soul?"

Ash blinked at him, and her mouth clacked shut as she stared at him in a properly quizzical, stumped manner.

"What?"

"You said, her soul was immortal. That her body—her vessel—was mortal and dead, but her soul is what's still alive and trapped in the body. What exactly do you do, when you…you know."

Ash frowned at him.

"I…destroy the body. Burn it. She's dead; she can't exactly feel pain. And after that…the storms stop. She's temporarily dispatched of until the next reset. Then she's back. Somehow."

Allen's lips curved downward as he processed that. It was so simple and yet…he felt there was _something_ missing. But _what_?

"So you're saying her body…"

"It comes back. Her body returns. Her soul comes back as well. Don't ask me how, I don't know how, but it just _does_. And I know what the crazy bitch wants and she's not getting it."

"And what's that?"

"A new body. She wants a new vessel to transfer herself into. She's a powerful being, if she's stubborn enough to hang around for a few thousand years in a dead body and not move on like she should. She is power hungry and Himiko wants to continue playing it up as a queen-turned-worshipped-goddess. These storms are dangerous, and if she ever got ahold of someone that she would willingly transfer herself over into, and got out into the world…if that happens, it's game over. Even if she died in that new vessel, her soul would still hang around and…"

Ash hesitated, dropping her gaze.

"I have no fucking clue on how to make her _stay gone._ I've been trying. I burn her, I drown her, I actually dismembered her and scattered her all over the island. I think…I think I once strapped her dead ass to a raft and tried floating her away, see if she'll be tricked into destroying herself with her own storms, but…" The werewolf shrugged, listless. "Obviously, nothing I did worked. Except, I did piss off the Oni, I accomplished that. Man, they were _mad_. But, that's a story for another time."

Well, he hadn't known all that and it was almost as disturbing as it was interesting to know the different methods Ash has already tried in dispatching the Sun Queen. And these were probably just some of the ones she could _remember_.

"And you're the only one she truly keeps trapped on this island. The only one she'll actively prevent from leaving if you try." Allen concluded with a dejected sigh. He stared over the diagrams that Ash had brought out; sketches of the monastery and what it might have looked like, if the rage of time and Himiko's violent storms hadn't reduced it to rubble. It would have looked beautiful in person, he realized. The parchment was yellowed with age, and one corner looked faintly singed. There were tiny figures ringing the entrance, little silhouettes, and he concluded that they must have been the Oni, if the shapes of their bodies—and possibly armour—were any indication to go by.

"We've established this, yes." Ash replied with a nod. She was leafing through other sketches she's done in the past, but she stared at them in vague wonder, like she wasn't entirely sure it was her hand that had created them. Half-remembered memories were probably filing past her eyes as she tried to recall exactly when she had drawn them. He saw it written so plainly on her face that she was trying to cling to them now, instead of letting them go, either willingly or not.

Ash took in a deep breath and let it out just as slowly.

"There's something I'm missing. I don't exactly know what, though. Why me? Why is Himiko so damned determined to keep _me_ trapped? I'm not Japanese, not one drop of my blood is related, in any way to any Asian culture whatsoever, even. Not even here in Yamatai. I'm a mutt, I'm sure of that, but I'm fucking white. There ain't nothing special enough about me."

"You're positive?" Allen asked dryly, although he regretted it nearly just as quickly.

Ash gave him one of her famous ' _Are you stupid?_ ' looks and he sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"All right. I can believe it. You definitely look like you'd belong more in Europe than you would in Japan…"

She certainly didn't have any facial markers that he'd identify as part of the Asian culture—whether it was Chinese, Japanese, Siamese, or any number of the countries in the east.

"I'd prefer Italy…in the Tuscan countryside." Ash exhaled, looking toward the fire pit. "A field of sunflowers, fresh vineyards…I wonder if they still have those. And the old villas. I've always wanted to stay in one."

A melancholic light was in her eyes as she kept staring at the fire. He didn't hesitate when he reached over to gather her hand up in his. She met his gaze and he smiled at her.

"Then we'll do just that. We'll go to Italy too, when we figure out a way to leave."

She watched him carefully before she curved her lips into thin, crooked smile.

"Promises, promises," she said in a warning tone. "Be careful with those."

"I aim to keep them." He said stubbornly, giving her hand a last squeeze. He started to pull away, but she grabbed hold of his fingers, gently keeping them there. Ash laced her fingers with his.

"I believe you," she smiled and it was softer this time. "I'll hold you to them."

His smile split open into a wide, hopeful grin.

"Deal."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"How much of the world do you think has changed?"

"Probably everything. Hopefully everyone didn't blow each other up all over the place and we just happened to miss it. Somehow."

"'Blow each other up'?"

Ash sighed. "In…I want to say 1945? I think that's right." She shrugged. "They…made a weapon. A really…really powerful weapon. And they dropped it on Japan. Twice. It completely decimated the cities. Leveled them."

Allen felt abruptly cold at that. It started in his belly, like a hard, coiled knot of ice and it slowly spread out to his limbs as he stared at Ash. She was scraping away at branches, carving them into feasible arrow shafts.

 _Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

" _Why_? And who's…they?"

He could barely hear himself speak, but Ash heard him well enough.

"…the Americans. With a…a team of people from Europe, I think." Ash said quietly back.

 _Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

He didn't think it was possible, but he went colder still until he was numb all over.

"We…we were at war. The Japanese attacked us, unprovoked in 1941. They bombed Pearl Harbor, in Hawaii. We were trying to stay out of World War II. But…we got pulled into it all the same." She frowned, her brows knitting together uncertainly as she lifted her gaze to stare off into space. She was groping for more, he knew. He was surprised she remembered all this, but couldn't recall her own birthday or legal name.

He didn't recall any of this when Ash had told him—bits and pieces, granted—of the vehicles and bunker buildings that lay scattered across the island. Remnants from a great war hundreds of years old, reminders that it had happened. She gave him the barest of information, but he had never, not once, stopped to think and ask for more until now.

Allen wished he hadn't.

"I think…Germany started the war initially, though. In 1939? Something about…World War I and the aftermath. They were in some kind of economic recession and they had to take the brunt of blame for the results of the first Great War. And…they got angry about it over the years. Something about a man named Adolf Hitler…"

Her jaw tightened and she returned to her work, slow and steady. Her knife sluiced through the wood like a hot knife through butter, shaping out the arrow shaft.

 _Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

"It was a horrible thing. And soon after that bomb-dropping event happened, everyone wanted their own atomic bomb, and everyone eventually got theirs, big weapons of mass destruction. Nuclear weapons. Wars cropped up all over the place over the course of the rest of the twentieth century, and stupid Americans became the quote-unquote, 'World Police'. We had bases popping up all over the place after the fact and…and…"

She stopped working again, staring at her hands. He stirred, and shuffled a few steps closer.

"And it's…blank. I can't remember anything else." She threw the shaft of wood she was working on with a frustrated growl and it clattered noisily across the room. Ash leaned forward in her seat, gathering her head in her hands, her elbows resting on her thighs. "I can't remember…anything else. Just stupid tidbits and facts, scattered pieces of the puzzle, but _that's it_. I can't remember anything about _myself_ , but I can remember things about a _stupid_ war that happened hundreds of years ago and—and I…I…"

She was shaking. Whatever spell that had been holding him in place broke and he strode forward, sitting beside her on the couch and gathering her up in his arms. She didn't resist and didn't try to pull away. Instead, she folded in, pressing up against him and the cold that had flooded him moments before fled in the wake of the heat radiating from Ash. It wasn't long before he noticed the front of his shirt was growing wet.

Words stuck in his throat like bits of bones as she cried. He wanted to get them out, but he struggled to find the right way to do it. What exactly could he say that he hasn't already said? Promises were good and well to spout off, but until words became actions, there was little he could say to comfort her. He hated every second he went without speaking as it stretched out into unyielding silence. After a while, however, he began to think that maybe he didn't need to say anything to her. She calmed and quieted down, and only when he actually checked, he found she'd fallen asleep.

Perhaps saying nothing was better in the end, and just being there was enough for her.

At least, Allen hoped so.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He couldn't breathe past the thick veil vapors and smoke; it stung at his eyes and his lungs, all the while blurring his vision to the point of tears. The fires around him were burning something foul-smelling and he hoped it wasn't toxic to breathe in. Through the haze and crackling roar of the fires, he could just barely make out the sound of voices. They were muddled and tinny, like he had cotton stuffed in his ears, but the more he picked his way through the rubble, the clearer it got. The ringing in his ears was finally fading too.

The hellish red glow of flame against black smoke made it hard to make out what was in front of him, but it was starting to thin out. This was bad. They'd been ambushed by the Solarii. It seemed their impromptu, unspoken truce had been broken. Whether it was a declaration on the part of all Solarii, or just a small core group, he couldn't say.

Either way, things got nasty and in a hurry when he and Ash were traversing through one of the old war bunkers. He was surprised anything still ran, but there was power coursing through the place; electricity thrumming through the walls and the wires. Some of the old generators were still going—their loud humming had drowned out a lot of the scuffling that Ash had heard long before him.

The next thing he knew, bullets were zinging through the air, and he was shoved behind cover while Ash took to charging forward. After that it grew…hazy. He wasn't sure what had happened, what Ash or the Solarii had done after that, but the explosion that had followed up the firefight rocked the entire compound to its core. Everything was instantly in ruins, his ears were ringing, and he couldn't find his balance for a few terrifying moments. The smoke was thick; the fires were tangibly felt as he stumbled through the rubble. Every time he inhaled, he was on the verge of breaking out into a coughing fit.

As the smoke cleared and he could see through it more clearly, he could make out shadows dancing on the walls, and voices speaking. Soft, garbled, but voices nonetheless. He recognized Ash's. The other one, he didn't.

The closer he shuffled forward, however, the more he could make out.

"—just fucking finish me off already, you bitch. C'mon. Why make me suffer?"

"It's a mercy you don't deserve." Ash replied in a clipped tone.

" _Mercy_ ," the first voice spat back mockingly. It was distinctly male and with the fringe of pain coating his voice. "What the fuck would a _monster_ like _you_ know about _mercy_? You slaughter us left and right and don't give a fuck."

"Apparently, I know a lot more than you do. You slaughter unarmed people—men, women, children, the elderly—anyone who shows up on this island and shows an ounce of backbone against you and your lot."

Allen could hear the absolute bitterness in Ash's voice. He edged closer, could make out definite shapes against a wall now. Ash was leaning against a wall beside a doorway, her form cast in a rusty orange glow from the fires close by. A rifle lay beside Ash in a crumpled, crushed heap. He didn't doubt the weapon's destruction was Ash's handiwork. In front of her, lying underneath a pile of concrete and steel rebar was a Solarii brother. His legs and lower abdomen was crushed beneath the rubble. Most of his form was cast in shadows, but he could make out the flicker of his silhouette between the dancing light.

"Father Mathias taught us how to survive. He taught us _well_." The Solarii brother wheezed out what Allen assumed to be a laugh, but it quickly devolved into a gurgling cough. Ash reached over and flicked the man upside the head. It was a small action, but coming from her, it elicited enough pain for him to cry out when his head snapped over to the side.

"Father Mathias is an insane nut job. I've seen his journal entries scattered across Yamatai. He taught you to be stupid, mindless thugs that only kill everyone who resists the Solarii and to lick his boots when he commands it. He'd kill any one of you without a second thought if it meant furthering his goals with Himiko. I've seen him do it."

"Shut up." The Solarii brother reached for her weakly, but she simply scooted away from his reach.

"Make me. Oh, wait…you can't."

Ash sneered, but it was half-hearted and gone in a flash. Allen saw more pity on her face than hate for the dying man. She looked up suddenly, meeting his eyes and she simply nodded her head to him.

"You should probably head outside. This ain't exactly an ideal environment to be breathing in."

Allen closed the distance, mindful to avoid a spitting length of flame that spilled over the concrete suddenly. The Solarii brother gargled out another laugh.

"Well look who it is. The White Demon. You two are a fucking riot, you know that? Bunch of fucking monsters, the pair of you— _urgh!_ "

One of Ash's small hands was wrapped around the Solarii brother's neck, cutting off his words and his air. Her claws dug into his skin mercilessly, threatening to pierce through. His eyes bulged and his hands weakly scrabbled at Ash's hand and arm, trying to pry it off as he gasped.

Allen jumped forward, alarmed.

"You can call me a monster all you like," she said, her voice quiet with a steel edge to it. Both her eyes flashed gold and her fangs were bared. The Solarii brother opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, but no sound came out. "But you don't _ever_ call him that. Do you understand me? You don't call him a monster. His name's Allen Walker to you."

Allen reached for her, to pull her off, but she was already retreating and the man was gasping and coughing, struggling to breath. He could see bruises already forming in the shape of Ash's thin fingers against the man's neck. Ash caught Allen's eye and he stared at her, disappointed and stunned. It took the man a full minute to catch what little breath he could pull into his lungs. It settled on a wet tired wheeze. Allen stared between the Solarii brother, the rubble piled on top of him, and Ash. He moved toward the rubble and grabbed hold of a sizeable piece. He wouldn't be able to move it on his own. He nodded to her frantically to come over.

She didn't move.

"Allen," Ash called.

She still wouldn't move from her spot.

"Help me move this. We're not leaving him under here."

" _Allen._ "

"Help me!"

"His legs and lower abdomen are _crushed_ ," Ash said gently. He hated how _quiet_ she was. How _resigned_. Like a parent explaining something complicated to a child and he was that child and he still didn't seem to understand. "The only thing keeping his guts inside him is all of that. He's a dead man."

"Don't say that! We can still…still…"

He trailed off, desperately grasping at straws, but the words wouldn't come. He glanced down at the man pinned beneath all the debris and detritus, winced at the glassy eyed, bloody-smiled look the Solarii pinned him with and the stilted, puffing laugh he forced out of his mouth.

"Walker, huh? The Fire Walker and Allen Walker. You're a match made in hell, aren't you? What are you, _an item_? You're always together. You screw, too, don't you? Yeah, you do. Guess I won that bet. Too bad I can't collect my money now."

" _Shut. Up_." Ash snapped at the man, sharp and quick and with all the snarl she could muster in her voice. Allen hesitated, staring at the pieces of rubble in his hands. If he helped the Solarii brother, he'd die. If he left him there, he'd die. He looked back at Ash, trying to see a better way but none were coming to mind.

"Why won't you help him?" His voice came out as strained and tight. He couldn't tell if it was the desperation he was feeling, tightening up in his chest and squeezing until it hurt or if all that was because of the smoke.

"I am," she said, pressing up against the wall again with a tired sigh. "I'll stay with him until he's gone. I'll come find you after. Get out of here. This smoke might be toxic."

"But…he's…"

"A dead man talking," Ash said, meeting his eyes once more. "I won't kill him the second you're gone, don't worry. It's a mercy he doesn't deserve."

"And letting him die slowly _is_ what he deserves?" Allen snapped back. A bloom of anger, hot and quick, rose inside him.

"Is killing him what he deserves more than leaving him to die? He's dead whether I pull him from under all of this crap or if just leave him here. I don't have the skills, the equipment, or the gear available to keep him alive even if I _did_ get him out."

His jaw snapped shut tightly and abruptly at that. He barely even heard the tinny and hoarse, "I'm right here, you know," from the Solarii brother. He just kept staring at Ash, the weight of the only three decisions crushing down on him; an ultimatum with no winning solution. Or was that the heat and the smoke messing with his head?

Leave him to die slowly, or dig him out and let his insides spill all over the place and cause him worse pain and die quicker, or simply kill him? There was no outcome that would result in his living in the end. It was only a matter of time before he passed.

Ash wasn't staring back at him any longer. She dropped her gaze to the Solarii brother, watching him rattle noisily from one breath to another. He was staring up at the ceiling with a cloudy-eyed gaze. Allen slowly lowered himself down on the other side of the man, his limbs feeling like lead weights all of a sudden.

"Hey," Ash called. "You need to get out. It's not safe in here."

"I don't think he'll be much longer. I'll stay until then."

"Goddammit, Allen…"

Ash sighed and he saw her get up from the corner of his eye, strolled to the side he was sitting, and plopped down beside him.

"Fine. If you get sick, it's your fault."

" _Fine_ ," he grouched back. The sounds of chaos unexpectedly seemed muted. The light of the fires died down considerably, but the smoke was still present. He had to pull up the hem of his shirt over his nose to breathe through and even then, it was still difficult. He stiffened when Ash bumped his shoulder and held something to him. It took him a moment to realize it was a flask. She wagged it at him, and he could hear liquid sloshing around.

"Give him some of this," she said, not looking at him. "Dying man should get a last drink, at the very least, don't you think?"

He eyed her, boggled, but took the flask slowly nonetheless and uncapped the top. He winced at the strong scent wafting from it the second he did, leaning toward the trapped man beside him. The Solarii's eyes slid lazily toward him, trying to gulp down a breath past the wet gargle in his throat.

"Whassat?"

"A last drink," he muttered flatly.

"I'd say…'fuck you'…thinkin' it's Dilo poison, but what…the hell? I'm already a dead man, right?" The Solarii let out another choking laugh and leaned up as far as he could. Allen tipped the flask over just enough to give him a sip and even that small sip sent the man wracking with coughs.

"Oh, god…fuck, that's…strong. I bet you…did lace that with…fucking poison. Didn't you…Fire Walker?"

"Sure. It's how I stay immune." Ash replied back blankly.

The Solarii let out another raspy, wet laugh. Allen winced at the sound. It grated at his ears and all he wanted was for it to stop. It was a noise that no human should be able to make. The hoarse noises continued to pop from the man's mouth, louder at first, but it was also slowing, struggling to push through. Every breath sounded like it would be his last, but then he'd pull in another one, just as horrible as the one before it.

It took him a few minutes to realize, however, that the noises had stopped. The silence following after that revelation was a deafening roar in comparison. Ash stood up beside him, circling around to the other side of the man. She gently placed her index and middle finger against his throat, ears occasionally twitching.

"He's done for. Let's get you out of here." She said. She pulled her hand away from the man's neck, and guided them over to pull his eyelids down so he longer stared up at them. She straightened up after, brushing her hand down her faded jeans.

He stared up at her like she was suddenly a stranger when she met his gaze. She pursed her lips into a thin line, brow furrowing. He knew that look. Allen cast another glance at the man and a shudder streaked up his spine as he stood to follow the werewolf out.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"You're still mad at me, huh?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to, not verbally anyways. His silence was enough. Ash sighed and he heard her tiptoeing closer until she was sitting beside him. They sat like that for quite some time, under the canopy of stars. It was a clear, unseasonably balmy night. Summer was almost gone and more often than naught, autumn weather had begun settling in. Tonight would probably be the last warm night in a long while. It felt nice, but he didn't enjoy it as much as he thought he would. The cave had been stifling, he needed out, but now that he was, he didn't feel any better.

"Allen…"

"You let him die."

She didn't speak up for another minute. He suspected she was choosing her words with care. She did that a lot with him. She was trying not to snap like he suspected she usually would with anyone else. She was actually trying to communicate instead of bulldogging her way through a conversation. Any other time, he would have appreciated the gesture, especially now that…

Well, he wasn't sure what to call what was between them. What could he possibly label it as? They certainly weren't married. They weren't engaged. They were…they were…

"What would you have had me do, Allen? Tell me."

He looked up sharply at her, and saw she was waiting, and rather patiently, for him to answer. He opened and closed his mouth several times like a gaping fish caught on the line. He racked his brain for a proper response, but none were forthcoming. He thought back to the Solarii brother, how utterly hopeless the situation had appeared. The man had been a goner, and even his optimism couldn't win out this time.

Allen lapsed into bitter silence. Ash gently touched his shoulder and he flinched away. He saw from the corner of his eye the hurt look on her face and she retreated quickly, as though he'd burned her. A small bit of guilt welled up inside him at that.

"Even if we dug him out, he would have died."

"I know that."

"If we had tried to save him, he would have been in more pain than he already was—"

"I know that! Don't you think I don't know that? I'm not stupid, Ash!"

He turned on her then with a snarl of his own. For what it was worth, she held her ground this time, unflinching. He, in turn, was full of pent up anger. He was the one who wanted to rage about how unfair it all was.

"Then what would you have had me do, Allen? Tell me. I'll be sure to hop in a mad little blue box, turn back time, and fix all the mistakes I made. _Tell me what I should have done, Allen._ "

He was at a loss for words once again, but a few managed to surface this time around.

"You should have _tried_. Solarii or not, you should have tried." He pressed ardently. She gave up long before she even attempted to see another way.

He started to get up, but her next words stopped him. "I tried to save Solarii, once. A long time ago. I think. It's…hazy. I remember they mostly repaid me by firing bullets into my chest. Ripped through me. Or they'd shout to their 'brothers' and have them ambush me while I was trying to help their injured party. That's what happens every time I tried. Or…what I remember, anyways, which isn't very much."

Her lips thinned and her eyes grew dark as she recalled what little memories she had left to go back to. Nothing but memories of Yamatai and the violence she's endured and dished out with equal fervor. No comfort, no kindness. Nothing but blood and fire.

"I think his name was Daniel."

Allen stared, properly shocked this time. Ash continued, seemingly oblivious.

"He was on vacation when he got swept up by Yamatai's madness and storms. He hated most of the other Solarii, mostly the overzealous fanatics, but he followed Mathias's orders regardless of all that. If we were anything but what we were, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill us."

"…why are you telling me this?"

"You humanize them. You see something that I sometimes forget is there. I'm sorry I'm not as kind-hearted as you. Especially when it comes to the Solarii. I don't see those things as often as I should, even if I know it's there." She screwed her eyes shut, swallowing hard. "You see things in people that I've forgotten about. That I blinded myself to. They may be monsters of men, but they're still just human and I treat them like they're worse."

She looked tired when she finally opened her eyes, when she glanced at him.

"Sometimes I forget that you're human and I…I pretend I am one sometimes. Pathetic, aren't I?" She snorted and slowly pushed herself up to her feet. "I'm sorry that there wasn't any other way. You have every right to be mad at me. I'll leave you be now. Or for however long you need your space."

She started to leave and he scrambled up after her, gently catching her hand to stop her. She froze in place, glancing at him questioningly.

"I don't—I don't want to be alone. Please." He smiled wanly, tentatively. "It's…it's not okay, but…I'm glad you admit that. I know that…not everyone can be saved, no matter how much or how hard we try. I hate that I couldn't do anything, but sometimes, I think I need reminding of that, too. As much as I don't like admitting it myself."

She considered him for a moment. Something brushed against his finger and he glanced down long enough to see her pinky stretching out to his. He curled his hand a little, meeting it. He pulled the rest of her against him in a heartbeat, and he felt her breath ghosting against his collarbone.

"I know we'll probably always see things differently, but…thank you. For trying, at least. I can appreciate that much."

The air was balmy, but Ash was a whole lot warmer. It was soothing. He closed his eyes as he tangled one of his fingers through her hair. It was getting long, she'd need a cut soon so it wouldn't snag on anything. Come to think of it, so would his…

Ash hummed softly. He began to say something else, but sneezed abruptly instead. He froze just as soon as she had and they stayed like that for nearly thirty seconds.

"Allen?"

"Hm?"

"…did you just sneeze all over my head?"

"…I…am _so sorry_."

"…gross." A beat passed. "I think you're getting sick."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He hated being sick with a passion. Everything ached like tomorrow. He was freezing cold and burning hot all at once. His head felt as though it had been stoppered up with cotton and snot, and the pressure behind his eyes and against his temples was absolutely horrendous. And that's nothing compared to the congestion built up in his chest, or the sweat that soaked his clothes and blankets.

"I told you this would happen, but noooo, you don't want to listen to me…" Ash said somewhere to his right. She muttered something else in what he suspected to be Chinese, although what dialect, he was lost on. Wait, when did Ash know any Chinese? He groaned back in response, his vision swimming so he closed his eyes and waited. He kept shoving his covers off and then pulling them right back on, only to kick them off minutes later. This little dance has been going on for the last week, ever since the aftermath of the ambush. And keeping solid food was another challenge altogether. The most he's been able to do that was thin broth and water without puking.

Then there was the oxygen tank she made him breathe through every few hours…

Ash was checking that right now. The tank was heavy and made of metal, almost a meter tall and filled with pure oxygen in gaseous form. The top had a knob to twist it on or off, and could feed the air through a thin plastic tubing that led to a mask. He currently had pressed that over his mouth and nose, and could feel the gentle rush of air against his face. He could barely breathe enough as it was, but Ash made him wear it all the same. Something about 'pure oxygen' being better than what he was breathing on a normal basis. Everything had dissolved into textbook medical gibberish as far as he was concerned.

"Almost done with this thing," she muttered to herself after straightening. Turning back to him, she leaned on the bed and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, wiping away his sweat-laden bangs. He groaned again, his voice muffled behind the mask. After a few moments she pulled her hand away. "You're a little cooler now. How're you feeling?"

"Horrible."

"Sounds about right. You've got pneumonia. I told you to leave, when all that smoke was up in arms. Now you're sick because it got in your lungs and screwed with your immune system. You're _lucky_ that's all you're suffering from. It could have been worse."

"Worse than this? I doubt it," he complained, yanking his covers back on when a violent shiver overtook him. "How much longer do I have to wear this thing?"

"You can probably stop now, actually," she said, softly prying the mask away and turning back to the tank to turn it off. The gentle, constant hiss it was making stopped altogether and it was relatively quiet again. She sighed. "You think you can keep something down?"

"Some broth, maybe."

"I'll grab some, then."

She was gone a moment later and he was left alone in his room.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he opened his eyes and saw Ash sitting beside him in a chair, her foot propped up on her knee, a book in her lap. She was flipping through the pages, eyes skittering back and forth as she read silently. When she sensed his eyes on her, she looked up long enough to assess him, then turned back to the book.

"You fell asleep. Your broth got cold. I can heat up your bowl, if you're still up for it."

Allen stared for a moment, closed his eyes and coughed. His chest and throat hurt from coughing so much. "What're you doing?"

"We have antibiotics," she answered, although it didn't make much sense until she added, "I'm still trying to figure out what ones I can give you. I don't want to screw it up and then you end up sicker because I gave you the wrong thing."

Her voice grew small and worried.

"I think I've narrowed it down, but…I don't want to screw it up."

He peeped open his eyes and stared at her dully, then let his gaze slide to the book in her hands. It was a medical text, one of several that had been on the boat. She tapped at the current page she was on.

"I think I've got this. I'll double-check. It's the most referenced meds used for pneumonia, so…we'll give it shot."

She stood, setting the book down on her chair before she left. He stared at the book for a near-full minute before sitting up and reaching across to grab it. Allen tugged it over and brought it face up to look at the tiny print on the glossy pages. His head swam as he tried reading through one passage alone before he grumbled quietly to himself. Half of what they were talking about was dry and long-winded, as well as too many words he couldn't even pronounce.

Is this how far medical advances have come? He was both in awe of and pitied the poor souls who dedicated themselves to memorizing such things in pursuit of a medical career. The list of medications and what they treated that was recorded on the page continued on and on. He pushed the book away just as Ash returned with a bowl of warm broth in one hand, a bottle of water tucked under her arm, and a tinier plastic bottle of something else along with a tiny cup in the other.

Allen sat up straighter in bed, trying in vain to suck in some air through his congested nostrils. He gingerly pushed off several balled up pieces of tissue paper from his bedspread.

"I think I need more," he said sheepishly.

"I'll grab some in a few," Ash answered softly, offering him the bowl first. His nose cleared some at the sudden heat and he could _almost_ smell the broth. He began spooning a few sips, savouring what little he could properly taste. His stomach rolled, but he was able to keep it down for the most part. That much he was grateful for.

"This should help with bringing the fever down, along with helping clear up your congestion in your airways, too. That smoke made your lungs vulnerable, and the air outside didn't help you any when we left that building, either. That's why you got sick."

Ash was talking more to herself than to him at this point, which was fine. Allen was only paying half attention to what she was saying. She continued to babble on, about what she had been reading for the last few days, carefully researching the antibiotics the texts referred to and suggested, versus the one she actually had on stock. Amoxicillin seemed the most common, she stated, along with clearing up other minor infections.

He was almost done by the time he noticed she was waiting, the tiny cup still in her hands, only it was full of pink liquid medicine now. He sipped up the last of his broth, feeling slightly better.

"Is that it?"

She offered the cup wordlessly.

"I'm not a doctor. I'm not even the Doctor. I'm just as rubbish at medicine."

That made no sense to him. He almost questioned what she meant, but thought better of it. Sometimes, Ash just didn't make sense. Maybe it was from living in this crazy place. Maybe living here made people crazy.

 _I live here too, so who am I to judge,_ he reminded himself as he took the cup and eyed the thick, pink liquid inside. He'd never seen pink medicine before.

"Is it safe?"

"For your sake, I hope so. I don't get sick. I don't even remember the last time I was."

"You were sick before," he mumbled before downing the cup. It was slightly sweet, slightly bland, slightly smooth, slightly gritty and it was all of those things at once. All in all, he had been expecting worse.

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were," he insisted and even then, he could remember that night, in the giant truck hiding from the cold rain with the Carnotaurus just outside, trying to tear in after the both of them and then Báthory coming in at the last moment. The old girl had saved them both and then Carmilla came in the aftermath to take them back home. "You passed out shortly after I found you. You were blinded by Dilo poison and you had a really high fever."

She stared at him for a while, her face betraying nothing. In the end she looked away.

"I don't remember all that."

"I'm not surprised…you were out for most of it," he reminded her, offering the little cup back. She took it back and gazed at it in her hands, rubbing her thumb along its plastic side for a minute.

"I'm sorry."

He blinked slowly at her, not quite comprehending at first before he belatedly asked, "For…?"

"I'm not a soft person. I don't…care much for the Solarii. Or people in general. And it's hard to…" She paused, and a pained look crossed her features as she tried to search for the right words. "I don't see things the way you do. I'm trying, but it's hard sometimes. I'm trying to not be like I used to be. It's not who I want to be."

Ash exhaled slowly and noisily, curling up on the chair she sat in, a leg drawing up to her chest. She's been apologizing for a while now. He knew she meant it, too. Ash rested her chin on it as she stared at the wall opposite her.

"I wouldn't have stayed with him. I never did, before I met you, I mean. I wouldn't have even left him alive. I would have shot him, moved on, never looked back."

Allen blinked again, sniffling as he listened. Her voice was so soft and quiet, it was nearly lulling him back to much-needed sleep. It was, dare he admit, _soothing_ to listen to her speak, despite the grim topic she was broaching.

"I actually hesitate with them, because I met you. I _regret_ having to kill them, if I even _have_ to. And I try not to now. You've probably noticed already." She faltered then, and the calm between her words had him nearly dozing. When she began speaking again, he jerked half-heartedly awake at the sound of her voice.

"I know I'm not human and I never will be again, but…being around you, I sometimes feel close enough to it. I hate what I am and…who I am, but when I'm around you, I almost feel…normal. And I don't hate myself as much. That's the one thing I like to forget about." There was a pause, and then, so softly he barely heard it, "I think that's what I love about you."

If he had had a clearer head, he would have responded. He probably would have gotten up and said something, anything. But his limbs were lead weights and he was already groggy from being ill, from being cold and hot all once, from coughing until his chest and throat and abdomen were sore. So he listened, filing this rather one-sided conversation away for later, telling himself he'd talk to her later about it before drifting back to sleep again without ceremony.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three: Heavy In Your Arms

**Chapter Twenty-Three:  
Heavy in Your Arms**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 _This will be my last confession  
"I love you" never felt like any blessing  
Whispering like it's a secret  
Only to condemn the one who hears it  
With a heavy heart_  
 **-"** _ **Heavy in Your Arms**_ **" by Florence + The Machine**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He didn't know how she did it, sneaking in another tree without him noticing, just like the year before. One would think that dragging something that big, that long, and that bulky would elicit enough noise to alert everyone else around. But no, no…Ash somehow managed to sneak in another tree, and she even had almost all the decorations from last year hanging from its boughs. The ones that had been roughened likenesses of creatures were now textured and refined, and even painted. There were also new additional ones added into the mix.

The Timcanpy one would always been his favourite, though. He missed the golem fiercely. He was glad that Ash put his little carving up at the top of the tree. The real Tim probably would have done the very same, perching right there.

Ash would have loved the little golem, he just knew it.

She was arranging a few more decorations on the tree when he snuck up from behind and pulled her into a hug. She laughed softly and said, "Heard you coming a mile away, you know."

"Mm. Don't care. It's looking wonderful."

She chuckled more earnestly when he squeezed her and lingered long enough to give her a peck on the cheek.

"Well, since you're here, mind putting some of these things up higher? I can't reach."

She held up a little Báthory carving, a piece of string tied around a loop crafted out of the old girl's backside. He let her go and took it, scanning the higher branches for an empty one.

"You've been working at these when I wasn't looking."

"I worked on them right in front of you, you just failed to notice," she countered with an impish grin. She turned back toward the stove, where she already had a myriad of dishes finished or waiting to be at any rate. The air was thick with the scent of cooked meats and spices and herbs and wood smoke and freshly crushed pine.

He glanced at her sheepishly.

"You've whittled quite a lot in front of me," he admitted. She cast another faint smile to him over her shoulder before turning back to the food. He found a few other unhung decorations and placed the last of them up higher where Ash couldn't reach, all the while wondering how she got the Timcanpy carving up there by herself. He concluded that Ash had her mysterious ways of doing things.

Or she jumped. Most likely she jumped.

Allen stood back and took in the sight of the area that had been decorated after he finished. It was small and limited, but it had grown since last year. Colourful strands of clothe had been woven together into tight braids and hung like streamers in the tree. Pieces of glass, coloured and clear, had been melted together, glinting prettily in the firelight and turned into little spheres that hung here and there. There were very few of them, but they were noticeable. And all the little carvings from last year had indeed been refined and detailed and painted. He was finding them all over again.

And of course, nestled at the base of the tree sat a few presents. He took pause at that, before jolting on the spot. Right. He'd almost forgotten. He stole a glance over at Ash, still working away at whatever dishes she was preparing. All of it intermingled and made his stomach roll with hunger, but he pushed the thought of food aside and went back to his room.

He rifled around in two or three footlockers before finding what he was looking for: a tarnished bronze box. It was decorated rather blandly, with concentric shapes here and there to mark the corners, but it was wholly an unimpressive little bauble. The box did its job, however, and that was all that was important. He winced as the hinges squeaked in protest when he lifted the lid.

Coins from varying countries and eras, seashells, feathers, beads, a few fangs from the predators of the island and more were wrapped up in pieces of red clothe inside. A few gold coins lay scattered inside, glinting amongst the others. He set aside one of them, which had a hole near the top of it, perfect for the leather cord he had in the box. He put a few other things to the side, before lingering for a long while on the pieces of red clothe. Allen rubbed the material between his fingers, remembering the day he had gone to search for Ash when he found it. It was her waist sash, or parts of it. He didn't know why he kept the pieces. He didn't know why he hadn't given it back yet.

 _Today is better than not at all,_ he finally decided as he swept it out. Everything on top went clattering back into the box and he slammed the clamshell shut, returning it back to the footlocker. He wrapped everything else up into the red clothe.

Perhaps she'd want this back. He tucked it away into the pocket of the hoodie jacket he had on. When he emerged from his room, Ash was already lounging on the couch, several dishes laid out on the battered old coffee table. After she spotted him, she waved her arms openly toward the food.

"Everything else is still cooking. It'll be another few hours, but here's first course. Dig in!" She beamed at him and he found himself smiling back just as broadly. She didn't need to tell him twice.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

A powdered jade oxen figurine sat in his lap. The little stone creature was laying down, its head tilted slightly up, as though gazing up at the sky. A demure look had been chiseled on its face. He picked it up and turned the surprisingly heavy figurine in his hands, noting how it seemed to have been polished away of any aging that might have once been present. There were still traces of rust-orange veins here and there, belying just how old it really was.

Ash had a small smile on her face as she watched him turn it over and over again.

"It's authentic, I think. Historians say Ghengis Khan had an entire fleet of ships that disappeared back in his hay days. That piece right there might just be a part of that treasure fleet. Who knows? Maybe some of the ships crashed here on Yamatai," she explained as she reached over to tap it. "But I also figure you're sick of looking at dinosaurs and a little piece of something else might be a more welcome sight."

He laughed. "Wouldn't that be something? And thank you, I love it."

They wouldn't really know, not until they left and had it appraised somewhere, he supposed. Perhaps by a historian or a museum could take a look at it to ensure its authenticity.

 _One thing at a time,_ he told himself as he set the little oxen figure aside. It joined a small pile of objects Ash had either crafted herself or had salvaged from the depths of Yamatai. Briefly, he wondered if any of the recovered trinkets had come from the sea caves.

She offered him one last object, this one wrapped in a small cut of rabbit fur, tied together with a thin piece of hemp rope.

"Last piece."

He took it, feeling the weight and noting the squared shape.

"A book?" He guessed, looking at her. They had plenty of books already, most salvaged from wrecks or even from the boat. She shrugged, offering no other concrete answer. He quickly untied the rope and slipped the fur away. Indeed it was a book, another leather bound thing, but it looked fresher than her usual ones. The pages weren't yellowed with age yet, as far as he could see.

He looked up at her again, but she continued with her silence, but that gleeful twinkle in her eyes set him on edge. Allen turned back to the book in his hands, unwrapping the leather cord that bound it shut and flipped the cover over—

—and he swore he felt his heart stop and the air freeze in his lungs.

Lenalee stared back up at him.

 _Lenalee_.

She was smiling, her lips parted just enough to show a hint of teeth, and her dark eyes were bright with quiet laughter. Her hair was short and neatly trimmed, just like the last time he'd seen her, just barely brushing her slim shoulders. He could recall the first time he'd met her, though, when it had been so much longer…

He lingered on the page, drinking in the details, and it seemed an eternity had passed before he moved on. Lavi stood out on the next page, grinning impishly up at him, all teeth and twinkle-eyed. The sketches were exquisitely done, he had almost been fooled into believing they were photographs. A lump began to form in his throat, lodging firmly in place and making it hard to breathe past as he kept turning pages.

Krory. Miranda. Bookman. Choji. Kanda. Komui. Johnny. Reever. Link. Timothy. Fo. Bak Chan.

Even Timcanpy and Master Cross.

Most everyone he's spoken to her about was in the book. There were empty pages, plenty left over, but he assumed that more drawings could be filled in them in the future. He went back over them again until he felt his throat pinch up tightly and his vision blurred hotly from tears.

"Um…"

He was startled at the gentle touch on his shoulder, nearly dropping the book in the process. Another set of hands darted out to steady it and pressed it back into his hands.

"This…" His throat tightened and struggled to push past the hard lump still lodged in it. "When did you know what they looked like?"

Ash smiled awkwardly, tentatively. "Remember a few weeks back, when you were sick?"

"…ah."

"Yeah, you were kind of out of it, but I…managed to wrangle some people out of you. Descriptions and the like."

Allen turned back to look at the book. The Noah and the Millennium Earl weren't in there. Neither was Mana. He was sort of glad to have had enough sense to not mention them, but with Mana, though…

"I…did something wrong by doing that, didn't I?"

He looked up sharply at her, catching the worried expression painted on her face. He disliked the idea of putting the book down, but he did it all the same to free up his hands and pulled her into a crushing hug. She let out a startled squeak, frozen stiff for the first few seconds. He was glad when slowly, he felt her arms creep up along his backside to return the embrace. Her fingers clutched at material of his hoodie jacket, her face buried against his shoulder. Her mixed scent of smoke and pine and sea salt assaulted him more fully and he lingered on the smell as he gathered his words.

"No, you didn't. You…you gave them back to me. I was almost starting to forget what they looked like, but this…" He stole a glance at the book on the table and gulped down a deep breath. It came back up as a stilted laugh that quickly turned into sobs. "You gave me my friends _back_."

He was sure, at some point, that the only thing that kept him upright was Ash and that was only because he had her pressed up against him. She took it in stride, though, quietly letting him lean on her until he felt drained and his face was tight and dry from crying and he was drawing breathe in shudders.

Only when he felt completely done did she move, as though on cue. She propped him a little straighter, holding him firmly at arm's length, studying his face, cupping his face gently. He offered a watery smile when she asked if he was all right, her eyes still glittering with concern. Allen dropped his head a little until his brow rested on hers and he took a brief moment to breath in her scent again. It steadied him a little, to have something familiar to hold, to breathe, to focus on.

"I'm fine, I promise," he said in a quiet voice, closing his eyes. "I feel better, thank you."

He leaned into the warm hand that cupped his face and he sighed into the kiss she gave him, short and sweet, but warm all the same in more ways than one.

"I love you," he said quietly as she pulled away and he heard her breath hitch when he did. He opened his eyes and saw she had pulled back to stare at him, but it wasn't with surprise like he had almost been expecting. No, there was more acceptance deigning her features, although perhaps there was some amount of mild shock mixed in. Slowly, the corner of her lips tugged up a little.

Not quite a smile, but close, and her eyes glittered meaningfully.

"I know."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen was positive it was early morning. Having no windows tended to skew time perception, even now. That, and there was no proper clock. All he knew at the moment was he was awake (just barely), he was warm (very much so), and Ash was lying beside him on her belly and face buried against the pillow. Judging by the way she was breathing, she was still fast asleep.

He sat up, running his hand through his hair, wincing at the dull and persistent throb in his temples.

 _Why did I agree to the wine? I told myself never again…not after what Master Cross did last time I had any alcohol._

He blamed it on the high-on-cloud-nine feeling he had been coasting since the last gift Ash had given him last night. He probably would have agreed to that noxious-smelling moonshine Ash drank if it had been offered to him. He couldn't recall everything with absolute clarity, but he could remember snippets.

Eating the last of the food after it finished cooking. Sitting up late, talking and reminiscing. Making plans for the next hunt, practice at the archery range, exploring the island. The wine had been sweet and warm, another of many prizes taken from the boat and saved for special occasions, he remembered that as well. Ash hadn't been affected by it, as usual, but he clearly had. He remembered snippets of her bare skin, hot to the touch against his. He remembered how fiercely and passionately she kissed him, the fragrance of her tantalizing smoky scent, and how tightly he gripped her hips to his when they joined together as one.

Everything else was hazy, but that was clear enough, in its own way.

Allen reached over and brushed some of her hair from her face, then he was tracing his fingers over the tattoo on her left shoulder and the one on her back. The pads of his fingers dipped over healthy rough skin and across smooth scars, all of which were painted with the golden yellows of the giant _ankh_ etched in her skin. She had told him about how it was the symbol for life in Egyptian culture, after he had asked about it when it drove him mad that he couldn't remember what it was.

He found it a bit ironic. The scars she chose to cover up would have—and quite possibly should have—ended hers, but she rose up all the same and lived. _Like embers rising from ashes_ , he thought absently. _Like a phoenix._

Ash stirred just as he lifted his hand away, breathing in deep and opening her eyes slowly. She blinked a few times and sat up. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, and covered up her bare breasts while the blankets pooled around her hips. She blinked again when she looked at him, and he smiled in greeting, drinking in the sight of her.

"Morning," he said, moments before she leaned forward and promptly dropped her head to rest against his shoulder. He winced when his headache flared at the jolt of movement, but it subsided just as quickly.

"How's your head?" She said, faint amusement colouring her tone. He sighed and winced when it gave an especially violent throb.

"You knew?"

"You barely managed one glass and then you were gone. You got mad at the tree and threatened to pummel it."

"For _what_?"

"Apparently, looking at me." She tilted her head back to look at him, a sleepy grin spreading across her face. "You have a rather dark and possessive streak in you that I didn't know about."

He frowned heavily at her.

"Neither did I. Did I know it was a tree?"

She snickered, pulling herself up a little closer until she was pressed against him. The flush of her body heat relaxed him some and even ebbed away some of the pain in his head.

"I think you did, and you still wanted to beat it up. Or maybe it was the decorations dangling in the tree you were mad at, it was hard to tell after a certain point."

He groaned, tilting his head back a little in embarrassment. "I didn't destroy it, did I?"

"No, no. I distracted you."

"How?"

"Lots of kissing, which led to other things…"

Ash's breath suddenly ghosted against the side of his neck and she chuckled softly. He could already imagine the Cheshire grin she was probably sporting. Allen felt his face flush and he knew it was probably red all over. Oh yes, he remembered _that_ part rather well…

He was disappointed when she pulled away, heat slowly eking away in lieu of her absence.

"I'm gonna make some coffee. You want some or would you rather have tea?"

"Tea please, but wait…" he said as he reached for her and she paused at his hand on her upper arm. She looked back at him questioningly. "Just a little longer?" He gave her arm a soft squeeze, a faint tug back toward him. She stared for a moment, before sliding a little closer and then he had her tangled in his arms again, flopping back onto the mattress.

Allen knew she wasn't a very…well, she would call it being "touchy-feely" although he would have gone with another way to call it. "Affectionate", perhaps. She has been alone, isolated, stripped of that kind of contact for so long. She barely tolerated it when people touched her, and the only ones she seemed more lenient towards were the raptors, Báthory, and Carmilla. But he was glad, all the same, that she seemed to have added him to that very short list and that she willingly let him this close and then some.

He held onto her, enjoying the simplicity of the moment.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He could see the Pachy just up ahead. Its dome-like head was hard to miss, as was the built frame it held itself proudly up in. Stocky body and tail, short powerful neck and muscled limbs made up the vicious creature. The Pachy bayed softly and its breath misted in the cold air. The Pachy's brethren answered the call in kind, farther away from where it was. Clacking its beak, it swung its domed head back and forth before going back to its grazing, snorting all the while it did.

Allen glanced off to the side, just briefly, saw Ash lounging against the trunk of a tree with her bow in lap whilst she hid from sight the same as him. She had her eyes closed, her legs crossed and her hands behind her head in a rather casual posture. He knew she'd eventually start hurting in the shoulders and along her upper back if she held her arms up like that any longer, though.

Allen turned his gaze back toward the Pachy, saw it coming closer slowly but surely. If he didn't act soon, it would find him and then that would be bad news all around. He's seen the way they've pummeled deer just for venturing too close and it was never a pretty sight. He steadied his bow and plucked the bowstring back until he felt fletching kissing his cheek softly. The Pachy stopped suddenly, thick tail bobbing back and forth while its head froze, bright eyes searching and cautious. He took in a breath, held it, released. The arrow went hurtling forward, its trajectory perfect as it struck home deep in the breast of the Pachy.

The animal squealed and bayed loudly, the entire shaft of the arrow nearly buried fully in the Pachy's chest. It stumbled on unsteady legs, its stubby arms trying to smack at the arrow shaft in vain. Allen held his breath a little longer, even after it toppled over and continued its twitchy dance while prone on the ground.

"Pachys are stubborn bastards, all the way to the end," Ash's voice called. He turned to see her picking herself up and rolling her left shoulder in circles with a wince. "But that was a great shot, you must've hit a lung. That's why he collapsed and ain't charging us. Good job."

He looked glumly back over to where the Pachy had fallen.

"It's still alive," he pointed out. _It's suffering_.

"Then let's give 'em some mercy." She countered, offering a hand to him. He took it and groaned as he was pulled to his feet. His legs were stiff from crouching for so long, having grown numb over the last hour. He followed her at a slower pace, picking through the undergrowth as she carved a path over toward the Pachy on silent footsteps.

Its thrashing had stilled considerably, he noticed as he approached. It clacked its beaked mouth as Ash came around to its backside and knelt, pressing her knee against its neck. She pulled one of her long knives from a sheath at her thigh. It was the bone-white one that looked almost reminiscent of a fang, with a steel-edge in the curve. With deft fingers, tilted the hilt towards him. He stared, unmoving.

"You took the shot. It's your kill."

"But…I've never…"

He was never the one to land the killing blow. Not like this. It had always been Ash and even then, he had never been up close like this when the deed was done. She continued to stare up at him expectantly.

"I know. But it's time you started. Don't bother with the heart. The ribcage is too close-knit together to land a proper hit. Slice the carotid. Along here," she motioned with her other hand along the neck and the Pachy gurgled in response to her touch, whining out a weak bark of protest. He flinched at the noise. He still had yet to reach for the knife. She had yet to retreat her hand.

"We need food. They need population control. There's got to be a balance somewhere." She wagged the knife. He stared at it apprehensively. She sighed softly. "The longer you stand there, the longer this guy is gonna be in pain."

He tentatively reached for the knife, his hand clasping around the leather wrapped handle. The blade was nearly as long as Ash's forearm and yet she handled it like it was nothing. It felt awkward in his hand. He was more used to the blades that took the place of his fingers on his left hand. They were an extension of him, more so than the long fang-like knife he now wielded. He briefly wondered if it was ivory fashioned in the likeness of a fang with a steel edge imbedded in the natural curve of it.

Allen looked back at the Pachy. Ash was still kneeling on the animal's neck. She motioned to the spot he needed to strike at again. This time the Pachy moaned and didn't move, but its breathing was more noticeably labored and stilted.

"Don't be meek about it," she warned as he knelt beside the Pachy. The animal's eyes, once bright and lively, were beginning to dim. His hand was shaking when he pressed the edge to the spot where Ash had shown him. She reached out and steadied him by putting her hand on top of his. He met her eyes, still reluctant.

"I…"

"A quick cut. That's all it takes. You'll be fine."

An arrow was one thing. It felt almost impersonal to loose one. But up close, looking into the animal's eyes and hear its struggles to breathe, its fight to live, even with a knife to its throat—that was a completely different thing entirely.

His fingers loosened and his grip was nearly lost before he tightened it up. No.

He had been wanting to show he could hunt just fine without assistance for some time now. Deer he had had no problems with, and neither the rabbits or the boar that roamed the island—when they were still around, that was. They were always down and dead before he had picked his way over to them. He had had to hunt before and this should be no different. Besides, how else was he to earn the right to hunt a bull Trike? Allen steeled himself, pressing the knife down a little harder until he saw a ribbon of red eke out from beneath.

"Quick cut," Ash reminded him again, her voice gentle. He pulled at the knife and it sliced through flesh with frightening ease. Blood gushed out and he hurriedly stood when it began pooling beneath him. The Pachy wailed, but it died down just as quickly as it had arose and soon the light in the animal's eyes went out. Ash waited before picking herself back up to her feet.

"Clean kill," she said in approval. She eyed the Pachy like a prize, her tail wagging slightly as she began circling. "Healthy male. There weren't many older or injured members in the herd, otherwise we'd have taken them instead."

Turning back to him, she placed her hands on her hips, a faint smile on her lips. "You did a good job, Allen."

A mixture of pride and uneasiness nestled down to settle in his chest.

"I've never had to do this before. Not—not like _this_ , I mean."

"You mean the killing blow."

"It's different in combat. But when it's not in self-defense, or the defense of others…"

"It feels strange taking another's life when your own doesn't seem to be at risk," she offered and he nodded. She motioned to the Pachy.

"If you didn't, your life would be in danger. Maybe not immediately, but you understand that you'd probably starve if you didn't hunt, right? You could probably get by on nibbling on edible grasses and other plants, but there's only so much they can do before your body broke down from the lack of fats and proteins that only meat can provide. It's hard at first, but it gets easier."

"I _know_ all that, I've known that for a while now, but it's…it's…"

"Actually getting personal."

"Yes. It's exactly that. Personally doing this. I guess I've just grown used to being at a distance…"

"Using a bow," she finished for him. He shot her a sour look. "I don't know everything about you. But I know enough to gauge how you think, how you feel. I know this wasn't easy for you."

He frowned at her, even as her face was schooled into a carefully neutral mask.

"And yet, at times, I feel like I don't know what you're thinking. Like now, for instance," he replied.

A faint crooked smile adorned her lips, surprising him.

"Sure you do."

She circled around the Pachy, quiet paws along the forest floor to come stand by him, her hands clasped at the small of her back.

"You know enough," she continued with that vague smile still on her face. "Isn't that what matters?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Hold still."

"What are you doing?"

"Just hold still. And close your eyes."

"I can hear what you're doing."

"Doesn't mean you know _exactly_ what I'm doing."

Ash sighed, but he could see her eyes were closed all the same. He stepped forward, carefully looping a leather cord around her neck. Dangling at the end was the gold coin he had intended to give her on Christmas, but well…

He had been rather distracted by many things.

 _At least I remembered instead of forgetting entirely_ , he thought. Ash tilted her head, but kept her eyes closed and a wry smile began to tug at her lips. She reached up to touch at the coin, but he chided her softly, telling her to wait. She sighed and dropped her hand. He finished tying a tight knot and stepped back.

"Okay. You can open your eyes now."

"You know, I'm not much of a jewelry person," she started, obliging and glancing down to touch at the coin again. "But…this is actually pretty cool."

"So, you like it?" He couldn't keep the apprehension from colouring his voice. She was still examining the coin, lifting it up as high as she could.

"Yes, I do! Thank you," she said, her eyes flicking to meet his, her smile still present. He grinned back in relief. She was examining the coin again, head tilting over slightly. "This writing…it looks like ancient Greek."

"I think it's a _drachma_ ," he offered helpfully.

"That's right, but…I didn't think the Greeks minted any in gold. And I didn't think they came this far to the east. I don't recall seeing any _trireme_ wrecks anywhere on the island…"

"It's possible they've been destroyed; the Greek empire was rather vast, if I remember correctly."

Ash stared at him, dumbfounded and impressed. "That's…pretty spot on, they had colonies sprinkled all over the place." She grinned at him. "Look at you, history buff. I didn't think you knew about all that."

"Trust me, Lavi was the one who would know more about historical things. He used to talk about them all the time; I just picked up snippets here and there. And, well…it helps I traveled all over the world during my training."

Her smile softened a bit. "It helps," she agreed, dropping her gaze back to the coin. It hung just below her collarbone and it was nearly three inches across. It was pretty big for a coin. It glinted in the light from the fire pit. Looking back up at him, she pushed herself up as high as the tips of her toes could allow her, just long enough to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you. Really. But, you didn't have to, you know."

"I know that, but I still wanted to."

He saw her tail was wagging. Slowly but steadily, it swung in arcs behind her. He wondered if she was aware she was doing that.

"Hey," she said quietly, anxiously, as her smile dropped away. He found himself mirroring her, feeling the air between them snapped taut, electrified almost. The seconds ticked by, and she kept her gaze locked on his, her lips pursed together. He waited, knowing eventually his patience would pay off. He wasn't disappointed when he felt her fingers snake forward to loop between his, her knuckles pressed to his. Her eyes flicked to their hands for a brief moment, then rose back up to meet his and a smiled ghosted across her lips.

"I love you."

Allen wished he could say he was half-surprised by the abrupt and quiet admission. Words only meant so much to her. Actions tended to speak louder, but to hear her say those three little words strung together, well…

A smile of his own quirked and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers and he sighed gently, eyes sliding closed.

"I know."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four: Out of the Fire

**Twenty-Four:  
Out of the Fire**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _Start by pulling him out of the fire and  
hoping that he will forget the smell.  
He was supposed to be an angel but they took him  
from that light and turned him into something hungry,  
something that forgets what his hands are for when they  
aren't shaking.  
He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen  
because you had him first, and you would let the world  
break its own neck if it means keeping him.  
Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and  
pretending to understand.  
Repeat to yourself  
"I won't leave you, I won't leave you"  
until you fall asleep and dream of the place  
where nothing is red.  
When is a monster not a monster?  
Oh, when you love it.  
Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.  
Here are your upturned hands.  
Give them to him and watch how he prays  
like he is learning his first words.  
Start by pulling him out of another fire,  
and putting him back together with the pieces  
you find on the floor.  
There is so much to forgive, but you do not  
know how to forget.  
When is a monster not a monster?  
Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.  
Here is your humble offering,  
obliterated and broken in the mouth  
of this abandoned church.  
He has come back to stop the world  
from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do,  
so you won't let him.  
Tell him that you will never know any better."_  
 **-Caitlyn Siehl**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

Two years.

That's what peace felt like, or at least, what _he_ thought peace felt like. There were little to no signs or interaction with the Solarii or the Oni. Thankfully and also sadly, no other shipwreck survivors crashed onto Yamatai's shores. But that also meant no victims were being subjected to the Solarii's cruelness or numbers added to their ranks. Most importantly, however, there were no signs of Himiko arising, either.

Two whole years. It still felt strange to consider.

The seas were mostly calm today. Allen could see that much from mountaintop at the moment. The water, from this distance, was nearly glassy smooth and shimmering from the heat of the summer season. There was a burning white hot coin in the shape of the sun etching its visage into the sea as it began to descend. There were no clouds in the sky, just the wide open blue expanse stretching out above him. It was a rare, clear day and he hated it. Allen wiped at his brow and turned at the sound of his name being called. Ash was crouching in a tree that hung low over a cliff, its trunk bent in a strange U-shape like the sagging neck of a beast.

"It's so _hot_ ," he complained. He had forgotten the small flask of homemade sunscreen Ash had made for him back home. He was going to start turning pink soon enough if no cloud cover made its way across the sky. Then he'd get burnt and be in pain for days and only after all that he'd start peeling. Then he'd be back at square one again.

"Well, learn how to tan like me."

"That is physically impossible." He sniffed pointedly before wiping at his sweaty brow. She could sit in the sun for days and not suffer the way he did after only a few hours out. Admittedly, he was only a little jealous.

"Sucks to be you, then."

He threw a half-hearted scowl at Ash's backside as he came closer, standing as close to the edge of the cliff as he dared. She never burned. Fire couldn't harm her and the sun only turned her skin into a crisp bronzed colour—and that was nearly everywhere. Allen found out rather recently that she could indeed cast aside quite a bit of shame for small indulges where beauty was concerned. On more than one occasion, he's found her lying on rocks, sunning herself.

Naked.

He supposed, in hindsight, that was a strange perk of being on a mostly-abandoned island with few inhabitants. Not very many people would be able to stumble upon her. Not like Allen had, at least.

Ash went back to viewing the valley below them. Somewhere, Allen could hear the faint thunder of a waterfall and there was a touch of fresh watered moisture in the air. He just couldn't see it and for all he knew, it could be right around the corner.

She was frowning, her brow creased with worry while her ears swiveled back and forth atop her head. She could hear and see and smell so much better than he ever could. She was doing all of that at once, filtering through the information at a speed he probably wouldn't ever be able to process or keep up with if he had even half her ability. She was viewing the valley with all of these senses to pick up something but what it was, she wouldn't say.

All she would say was that something was wrong with Yamatai, something so off even for the island that it concerned her. She was more in tune her animal senses than he was, and sometimes, she was sharper than the raptors and the rexes both. There were times she had picked up on oncoming storms long before they were even a smudge of darkness on the horizon, even days before it hit them.

And if something concerned her this badly, Allen was beginning to feel it itch at the back of his head, whatever it may be, as well.

"It's not Himiko," she had told him as they packed their bags and grabbed their bows and belted on quivers filled with arrows. She took extra measures, slinging a rifle and an old trench shotgun, as well as a pistol into their respective holsters as she buckled them onto her. Her pack carried supplies, including extra ammunition. That was on top of her bracers with the thin, hidden blades—he was sometimes reminded of Link when she wore them, although the blades were thinner than his, and not serrated at the edges—and the other various knives she carried on her. Some were hidden, others were more visible.

In fact, he didn't know how many she actually carried on her nor did he ever figure out how she managed to have so many hidden on her without injuring herself. Seven years and it's still a mystery to him.

But one thought crossed his mind the entire time they were prepping up to leave: she looked ready to go to war. His worry gnawed at his gut every time he looked at her.

"Then what is it? Or who, if it's a person? Do you know at all?"

Ash had been tight-lipped at the time. She couldn't even tell him.

"I…don't know," she had finally answered him as they left. "But I don't like it."

He didn't like how troubled she looked. How suddenly reticent she had become. Any attempts at weaseling out an answer were met with stony silences. Something was wrong and it wasn't just Yamatai that was off-kilter. He's grown used to her opening up and actually talking to him, and now, suddenly having her clam up again like this…it troubled him more than he liked to admit.

Ash hopped out of the tree and back onto the trail beside him.

"Anything?"

She shook her head, and craned her neck to glance back toward where the palace grounds were. They were getting closer. They could just make out the rooftops, peeking over the tops of the mountains. If they followed the trail they were on, they'd eventually reach Shantytown and the old palace. Slowly, they'd been making their way around, although if he didn't know any better, he'd say that Ash had been trying to avoid going there as long as possible. Perhaps she was hoping whatever bad vibe she was feeling or whatever it was she was sensing hadn't been emanating from the Solarii stronghold.

She'd venture in there alone, if she had to, but she hated bringing him there. He knew all that. But she's never done this before, even if they both knew that too many Solarii still hung around the place, and they had a lot of formidable weapons stockpiled the deeper one went in. She could take them all on and keep asking for more, even if he tagged along.

But her utter avoidance struck him as odd, and now it looked like the last place they'd need to scour out is the very place they hadn't gone to. He had almost been hoping to avoid a confrontation himself.

 _So much for wishful thinking,_ he thought. Ash motioned him to follow.

The trail they picked along on led them deeper into the mountains, across giant pillars that must have once been connected, either by the mountain or by manmade bridges once upon a time. Now they were crumbling stone stacks standing alone like sentinels with pieces of old shrines still remaining against the ravages of time, but just barely. A giant statue of Himiko rose up in the distance, nestled snuggly against the face of the mountain. She looked serene and almost holy, the way she had been depicted in the carving of the stone.

They were too close to the monastery, though. There were still Oni around and they would be close by.

He and Ash hopscotched their way across and made it to the next leg of the trail. This eventually led them to a tight little canyon with more carvings apparent in the face of the vertical walls—these depicting a pilgrimage. Perhaps they were to show Himiko's once-loyal people, traversing to the old monastery where the Oni now resided—or where they used to, alongside the Sun Queen's body.

The canyon trail eventually turned into an inner mountain passageway that required them to crouch and inch their way along a thin precipice of walkway. It was dark in the cave, but Ash had a small glove of fire hovering around them to light their way. On one side, they pressed up against a cave wall. On their other side was a sheer sudden drop into the darkness. He could hear the steady rush of water somewhere deep in the bowels of the cave.

A few pieces of stone abruptly flaked clean off the path where Ash stepped and for a hair-raising moment, the ground beneath them shook. A hairline crack appeared between them and Ash's half sank an inch. Ash shot him a quick look over her shoulder.

" _Go_."

She skittered forward two steps and he started to follow but stopped short when the ground suddenly gave way beneath her and the earth swallowed her up into the gloom. The path beneath him buckled and Allen scuttled backwards as the ground where he stood moments before broke apart as well, sinking into the pitch black below. His heart thundered away against his ribcage as everything settled, including the dust that shook from the ceiling and he was left alone.

Hurriedly, he unclipped the walkie-talkie at his side.

Yelling blindly into the dark would just set off another rockslide in this place.

"Ash," he said, trying to sound calm, but his heart was tap-dancing away in his chest. She's survived these things before. This wasn't the first time she's gone under like this. This wasn't her first rockslide she's had to pull herself up from underneath. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway. There was always going to be that worry tainting his forced calm. The static on the other end was palpable, hissing away without a hint of life.

"Ash," he tried again, more insistent. "Ash, pick up. _Pick up!_ "

" _Keep it down. Jesus Christ, what've I told you about places like this_ ," her voice finally chirped on the other end.

A well of relief flooded him at the sound of her voice. He began to depress the talk button, but stopped short when she started up again.

" _I'm fine, I just…ow. Jesus fuck. Got carried to another part of the cave system. Just—find a way through, I'll figure something out._ "

"Where are you? I'll come down and find you, just stay put."

" _Negative. You keep going, if the exit's still there. If not, find a way around. Start heading towards the palace grounds, I'll meet you there._ "

He frowned as he listened to her speak.

"What's wrong?" He finally asked.

" _That rockslide sealed up the way down here, you couldn't get to where I am, even if you wanted. Not without triggering another rockslide, or worse, a cave-in. I think I see a way out of here for me, though. Stop wasting time worrying about me, just get going. I'll meet you at the palace. Okay?_ "

There was something else; he could hear it in the strain in her voice. Sitting here and arguing with her over the radio, however, really was going to be a waste of time. He'd just have to ask her when they were both safely out of this mountain.

"All right," he said, even if he felt anything but about the plan. "I'll…I'll meet you there."

" _Hey. Good luck. See you soon._ "

With a last chirp from the walkie-talkie, it went quiet. He stared at it for a long minute before clipping it back to his belt a little more forcefully than he'd meant. Stubborn woman. Stubborn _and_ prideful. Dammit. Something was wrong and she wasn't going to let him help. Or admit she needed it, for that matter. Allen sighed, unclenching his fist. He hated it when she pulled stunts like these.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

As it turned out, the exit was still intact, if a little tighter to squeeze past than it used to be. A slab of rock had made its home right where he needed to leave, but he just barely managed to slip out past the crack that still existed. The palace grounds and the Solarii's shantytown were laid out before him. Farther out, he could see the pine forest where Báthory and Carmilla usually resided, when they weren't terrorizing the local island population. Up in the peaks above the forest was where home was for him and Ash.

Down below, he could see the old lift machinery left behind, reminders of an older war. They were still and quiet, some of the platforms swaying in the wind that was gusting past.

Allen eventually picked his way across the mountains, coming to the outskirts of the palace. In the distance, he could make out the great bridge that connected between the palace grounds proper and the mountain peak across the way. Most of the old bridge had fallen to disrepair over the years. Without the Solarii cobbling it together with pieces of salvage, especially after the storms, it quickly began to crumble. Only Ash dared going over it, but that was to appease her inner adrenaline junkie. Or so he liked to think. He never voiced it aloud and frankly, thought it better not to. Ash didn't seem to share the same idea of what he thought she was. He also thought she was in denial about it.

The thought of her brought a fresh wave of concern. She wasn't here yet. He scanned the area, could pick out tiny, ant-like figures moving around on the ground. Fleeing, really. They were high-tailing it for somewhere else, and he could just barely hear them shouting at one another. Had the Solarii found something worth salvaging or were they excited over something else? There was no sign of interfering radio chatter, so he wouldn't know.

The Solarii were so few in number here. They had been picked off fairly quickly by the island's predatory inhabitants. Only the most clever and quick could survive and there were few of them left alive. And what few that were left were wary when it came to tangling with Ash. If it was a boat they saw, he hoped them the best in getting away.

He didn't quite share in their enthusiasm if that were the case. He still had a promise to fulfill.

Allen didn't see Ash and the longer he waited, the more he worried he became. She could take care of herself, he knew this. She wasn't a child, but there were times when she threw her own health and wellbeing completely to the wind, or she'd refuse help even when offered. She was so _stubborn_. It was admirable in the right moments, downright stupid in most others. He's called her out on it, but she would hand wave it away, like there was nothing to worry about. Then she'd chide him for not having any trust in her pulling through and getting a job done.

 _It's not that I don't trust you; it's just that you've had one too many close calls and you don't ever seem to take that caution into consideration for future endeavors…_

He unclipped the radio at his hip, depressing the button.

"Ash, are you there?"

The static hissed on the other end when he released the button. The seconds ticked by with no response. He tapped his finger against the side of the button a few times impatiently, then hit the button again.

"Ash."

" _Well, well, well…we were wondering when you'd start squawking. Me and the boys had a bet going on and it looks like I lost. I figured you'd be a lot sooner, calling for your little wolf girl._ "

Allen nearly dropped the radio at the unfamiliar voice. Distinctively male, older. One of the Solarii?

No. They couldn't get the drop on Ash for long and get away with it. There was no way in hell they'd ever be able to capture her, let alone keep her that way. He doubted they even knew about her weakness to silver. But her radio…

If she had lost it and the Solarii were in the same caves as her and somehow found it…

" _I'm sure you have plenty of questions, don't you?_ " The voice queried knowingly on the other end. There was a booming laughter in his voice, one that set Allen on edge.

"Where's Ash?"

" _Oh, is that what she's going by these days? Our dossier shows a different name…well, no matter. We have her. And the only way you're getting her back is by going through us._ "

"Are you a part of the Solarii?"

' _Those pathetic snacks-to-go on legs?_ "

Laughter erupted on the other line and Allen could hear other voices joining in the cacophony in the background, tinny and loud.

" _Boy, you got a lot of nerve comparing us to those meatbags. We're nothing like the pathetic humans you've been living beside. Hell, we're in a league all our own, compared to your little wolf guardian. Oh, speaking of which…looks like someone's awake._ "

There was a garble of unintelligible voices speaking, too far away to tell what was being said by the walkie-talkie but he could hear the context well enough. Whoever else was there was in the background, speaking with someone else. There was another sound, like something being hit.

A shout rose above the din of the white noise, sharp and abrupt.

" _Moth—r—kcers!_ "

Static burst through between the syllables of the single word that was spat out, but he recognized who it was all the same and felt his entire body go ice cold the moment he heard it. Another round of laughter drowned out the new voice. Anger sprang up in place of the numbness quickly, white hot and bright.

"Bastards! Where are you?!"

" _Why, we're in the palace! A little drafty and decrepit for my tastes, but for now, it suits our needs just fine until we leave the island._ "

" _Allen, don't do it, don't you dare come here! TAKE THE RAFT AND RUN, ALLEN—!_ "

He bristled at the sound of Ash crying out in pain and someone telling her to shut up.

The first voice came back, sounding mildly disappointed. " _Such a rude little thing, isn't she? I don't know how you put up with her. I don't even understand why Xerxes wants her._ " The voice sighed, but it was mocking and fake and borderline bored. " _But I don't get paid to ask questions. I get paid to do as I'm told and while I shudder at the idea of being ordered around…I and my team, at the very least, get to do as we please to get the results he desires. It's a bit of give and take, I'm sure you understand._ "

"What do you plan to do with Ash?"

" _Ah, ah, ah! I can't spoil that and frankly, it's above my paygrade to be giving out that kind of sensitive information so freely. Do you think I'm stupid, boy?_ "

Another bristle settled between his shoulders at being addressed as 'boy'. It reminded him too much of Tyki Mikk. He almost sounded like the Noah, too, although the voice was a few shades too deep. A couple octaves higher, though, and the man probably would have been a spot on imitation.

"I think you are," Allen growled back. "You have no idea who you've taken into your custody. And you're going to pay dearly by her hand if I don't get there soon enough to do it myself."

The voice laughed, unfazed by the threat. " _And you have no idea what we are, do you? You're probably thinking to yourself, 'oh they're only some ragamuffin group of humans', but no, no. I'm sorry to say we're more than that. Much more. We're like your little friend here, but much stronger, faster, smarter. We hunt in packs, whereas_ she _hunts alone. There's strength in numbers and she has none. Not here. And neither do you._ "

Allen paled and the implications and the pieces began to settle into place as he mulled over those words. It clicked seconds later.

Werewolves.

Other werewolves, here on Yamatai.

He and Ash didn't have any silver on this island. None on hand, none readily available, none for a rainy day situation like this. The last time he'd laid his eyes on anything silver had been the knife Ash had been stabbed by in the sea caves. He had gone and tossed that into the sea. It was long gone by now, carried away by the tide and buried in the cold waters and sands.

" _Tell you what, boy, let's play a little game. I'll give you a one hour's head start and you have two choices: take your little wolf guardian's advice and flee, run as fast and as far as you can, or swim, I don't care which. Who knows, you might live! Or, you could foolishly storm the palace, try to stage a daring and noble coup and die by our claws. If you choose neither, however…we'll hunt you down and tear you to pieces._ "

He could hear Ash yelling in the background and urging him to run, the others shouting at her to shut up, and the voice sighed in another mock-dramatic fashion.

" _Such a pain, this little wolf is. Tick tock, boy. You're on the clock, and when we started speaking, you had an hour's worth of a head start. Now, it's less. Ta-ta._ "

With a final chirp, the walkie-talkie fell silent. No Ash. No mysterious voice. Nothing but the wind in his ears and the heat beating down on him. His grip tightened on the device until it began to creak in protest. He gruffly clipped it back on his belt and glared across the way toward the bridge and the palace. He could see a thick wisp of grey smoke curling up between the tiered rooftops.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He kept asking himself if she had known about the other werewolves. He kept asking himself if she had purposefully been avoiding the palace, moving them from place to place over the last few days. He kept asking himself if that was why she was so grim, so tight-lipped, so…so secretive and edgy all of a sudden.

Every time he found himself asking those questions, he had to stamp them out. He'd ask her when this was over, when they were safe. Yet he still had to wonder how the werewolves made it onto Yamatai without triggering a reset with Himiko and the rest of the island.

There were several hidden entryways into the palace, most of them he remembered how to get to, thanks to Ash. When the numbers of the Solarii began to really thin, they'd sometimes raid the palace for supplies and raw materials they needed. Nearly all the consumables from the boat a few years back had been used up already. Allen found two of the hidden entries completely gone, the entrances caved in. He began to wonder if the werewolves had found them and blocked them off on purpose when he came to a third one in the same condition. He felt a little hopeful when he came upon a fourth entrance, this one still intact, although he wasn't overly fond of trudging through it. It was very nearly flooded.

He hated it even more when he realized he'd have to traverse past the cavern that quite literally had pools of blood and bits of gore bobbing about in it below the path he took. He made a point to not look down below, but the stench was overwhelming when combined with the sulfurous stink in the air. Occasionally, he'd hear gusts of it exploding out of cracked vents and catch brief clouds of yellow gas rising up, fading just as quickly against the blood-stained rocks.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rose and a shiver rolled down his spine. He felt like he was being watched. Allen paused, casting a cursory glance over his shoulders and scanning the trail at his backside. There was nothing but grey rock face, stalactites and stalagmites looking like jagged, uneven teeth as they rose up to or reached down from the cave ceiling. Below, the stagnant pools of blood remained smooth as glass, looking more red than black. The heat inside the caves kept it all from coagulating. When he turned back, his heart leapt to his throat as a wolfish face was suddenly in front of him, connected to a heavy, muscled furred body. Before he could react, a giant pawed hand wrapped around his neck, lifting him bodily into the air.

"Told you he'd come this way." The wolf said, baring yellowed teeth lined by black lips in Allen's face into a grin. Golden eyes watched him with a cat-got-the-canary kind of glee. Allen grabbed at the pawed hand holding him, trying to pry it loose but it wouldn't budge. It was like trying to pull apart stone with his bare hands. The other pawed hand came up and jerked the bow on his back, ripping the bowstring with ease beneath a talon. The string lashed out and snapped against Allen's cheek, and he flinched when the wolf laughed and tossed the bow away. He heard it hit something and clatter away, the sound fading quickly. Dismay filled him. It was the bow that Ash had made for him with all the carvings along the wood, the one she had made especially for him to accommodate his mismatched reach.

The gift she'd given him over three years ago.

"Shut up already, I'll pay you when we get back," another voice said, somewhere behind the beast that held Allen. The wolf turned its head and Allen caught a glimpse of skinny man clad in a plain black shirt and jeans and sneakers, his long dark umber hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a sneer on his thin, sallow face, pale green eyes glinting with annoyance when he caught Allen staring at him.

"Hundred bucks." The wolf rumbled back with elation.

"I already know! Fuck, man. Just snap his fucking neck and let's go already. It stinks in here."

"Aw, but I was hoping to chew on him for a little. Boss won't care much." The wolf turned its head back to Allen and humid, rancid breath poured over his face, wolfish grin still in place. "I like 'em a little skinny like this. Extra chewy with a little crunch."

"Boss wants the little shit dead, so do it already. We got the bitch like Xerxes wanted and is _paying us to get_. Only reason we're still here is because he's playing this stupid game with this kid. We won, he lost, let's go home and get paid already."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…fuck, already, fine."

The werewolf turned his head back just as Allen flung a well-aimed kick in his face. It barely registered to the beast, and it ended up hurting _him_ more than anything. It was as though he kicked a metal pillar! He missed his boots. The sneakers he wore had no worth or merit in combat whatsoever. The wolf peeled his black lips back into another twisted wolfish grin.

"We're a lot tougher than a human, kid. You'd break your bones long before you broke ours. What're you, _stupid_?"

The vice around his throat tightened and it made it all the harder for air to squeeze past his windpipe. His vision blurred and darkened momentarily, the ache in his foot a distant concern.

"Hurry the fuck up."

"Hear that? Guess your time's up!"

The other giant pawed hand reached for him, curved talons closing in but they suddenly stopped a hair's breadth away when the other barked at him.

"Hold up, getting somethin' from the boss."

The claws stilled and the vice grip on his throat slackened. Allen sucked in a breath, the spots in his vision clearing. _Now's the time—while they're distracted!_

Before he could react, the other werewolf whistled sharply.

"New orders: bring the little shit, boss wants to see him."

"Aw, what? Whaddya mean by that?"

"I mean, the boss wants to fucking see him, what do you think that fucking means? Guess he changed his mind about offing him right away if he shoved his nose around here."

The werewolf holding him whined piteously as he glanced over his shoulder to his companion, but it quickly turned into a disappointed growl as he turned back to look at Allen.

"Just a little bite? Not like he'll live long enough to change or miss a limb or two."

"No! No bites, no mangling, just—fucking give 'im to me, I don't trust you to keep him intact. You might maim him between here and the throne room."

Allen was surrendered to the sallow-looking man, and a part of him played with the idea of making a break for it. But then that would mean being chased and werewolves, as he learned from Ash, were notoriously persistent hunters. Ash spent the better part of three days hunting down an individual Compy that had made off with one of her shiny trinkets. She had tracked it so meticulously, that her sheer tenacity and skill alone had stunned Allen, never mind that she had actually _succeeded_.

 _They'll sniff me out if I tried to hide and run me down. I wouldn't even get a chance to get tired._

He swallowed back that strong urge as the thinner werewolf grabbed Allen's upper arm and squeezed tight until it felt like his arm was going to break from the sheer pressure. The werewolf gripping him sneered, his pale green eyes flashing malevolently.

"Try and run. I fucking _dare_ you."

Allen glowered back, tipping his chin back and saying nothing. The werewolf scoffed and started dragging him down the way Allen had originally been heading, silent as the grave. The fully shifted werewolf followed in their wake, growling and rumbling his discontent about never getting to have any fun all the while.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The throne room was perhaps one of the more intact rooms left in the palace, but not by much. The room itself was open and airy, with giant pillars of wood supporting the ceiling. They must have once been painted an opulent and pleasing shade of red, but the lacquer that once protected it was gone, leaving it to flake away as the years had ticked by. A good majority of the paint still remained, however, and it didn't completely deflect from its grandeur appearance. It was still an impressive piece of architecture to behold.

There was no throne itself, merely a raised dais against a far wall, and a few handmade chairs made from salvage were scattered around it. Several other men were lounging in that general area, Allen noted immediately. Except for one.

"Ash!"

He lurched forward at the crumpled figure at the bottom of the dais, flanked by two men—more werewolves, he corrected himself—but the one holding him jerked him back. Stars danced across his eyes as splinters of pain broke out across his nose like shards of glass. He was tossed to the hardwood ground without further ceremony and before he could raise himself up, something heavy slammed into his back between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground.

"Well, well, well! I almost figured you to be a smart one and run away, but I suppose I judged you entirely wrong!" Allen lifted his head just enough to see one of the figures on the dais strolling down toward him. He recognized the voice immediately. It was the one who had Ash's radio and spoke with him.

"And you lost a bet, so you'd better pay up, Dev!"

The other werewolves cackled. The figure behind the werewolf striding toward him stirred. He caught sight of Ash's face and paled.

It was a bloodied mess. One of her eyes was very nearly swollen shut, her bottom lip split open, and gash marks lined her brow, her hair sticky and wet with blood.

 _Blood?_

It clicked a second later as he saw other wounds adorning Ash's figure, the ones he could see.

 _She's not healing._

Something was wrong. She was stripped of her weapons, her arms bound behind her back.

The werewolf he'd spoken with earlier stopped short of him and crouched, hand darting out to grip Allen's chin and force him to look up. His hands were rough and calloused and tipped with claws. Their points dug painfully into Allen's skin.

"Allen!"

Allen heard Ash growl, but it was cut off just as suddenly as it started when the unmistakable sound of someone hitting someone else sounded off.

"Sonuvabitch, I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

"Shut _up_ , you goddamned cunt. Fucking human-lover."

"Yeah, don't you know you're supposed to eat humans, not fuck them?" Another voice piped up, disgust apparent in his tone.

Another hit. Anger bloomed white hot and fast in his chest. He tried jerking away, but the werewolf held tight until he felt his cheek slice and blood run down it in a thin ribbon. The werewolf holding his face ignored his struggles and the one going on behind him, a slow smirk pulling the corner of his lips.

"I guess I do owe them money. A bet's a bet. I was almost hoping you'd be gone by now. Or at least we could have hunted you, have a little more fun while we were here. Having you come to us is like shooting fish in a barrel. Easier to kill, but not quite as much fun. We'll just have to make do, though; we are on a bit of a tight schedule, I'm sure you understand how it is."

The werewolf staring down at him had bright amber eyes, wide and intense and they roved over Allen's face methodically. He was smiling at Allen, too; all perfect white teeth and the former Exorcist could make out the all-too-huge canines, just poking out the corners of his lips. Just as quickly, the werewolf let Allen's face go and straightened up to his full height with a mocking sigh on his lips, a shrug lifting his shoulders.

"No matter. Xerxes wants you gone and requires…well, now I'm not sure what she's called. London, Lupin, Ash—it doesn't matter anymore. She'll be a test subject with an assigned number once she's back at Chimera Dynamics. Names have no meaning there, except for profiles and dossiers."

Ash stirred and the movement drew Allen's eye.

"What the hell does that mean? Who the fuck is Xerxes?"

Answers he'd like to know as well. Was Xerxes the one who knew they were here, had sent them that boat filled with supplies?

"All in good time, little wolf. All in good time."

"Boss. Can we wrap this up? Warren and I got plans that don't include gloating to food or babysitting a fucking kin-killer and a curltail."

A few eyes drifted toward Allen, the rest toward Ash. The way they looked at him made him sick. They didn't even think of him as a person. They thought of him as a walking snack. But a kin-killer? Curltail? Judging by Ash's snarl, they weren't good terms for werewolves to be called.

These were the kind of werewolves, he came to realize, that Ash hated with a passion—more so than humans like the Solarii. He could certainly see why she hated them.

"Patience. We'll be gone in a few minutes. Just humour me. In fact, why don't you three go on ahead, give the report to Xerxes and we'll be along right behind you?"

"But boss—" One of them piped up, only to be smacked in the arm by another.

"He's a _human_ without silver or wolfsbane. What's he going to do, bleed on them?" Another snapped, first gesturing towards Allen before sneering down at Ash. "She's doped up and can't do shit. Bitch's roughed up enough as it is, she knows her place now. Let's get going already. This fucking place stinks."

Snickers filled the air and the three told to leave lifted their arms up and poked at their forearms. Allen could now make out something was on their arm—a band of some kind and they were glowing. A few pokes at the object encircling their arms and suddenly, they were glowing bodily, a bright white light and then—gone.

They were _gone_.

Allen stared at the spots where the three werewolves had been standing.

 _And then there were four._

The object pinning him to the ground lifted away, giving him more room to breathe again. He was gruffly picked up and forced to his feet. The shove forward nearly sent him sprawling but he caught his footing quickly.

The werewolf at his backside rumbled, "Move."

Allen glanced over his shoulder to glare. The werewolf, fully formed in his fur, was nearly three meters tall with shaggy russet fur and his eyes very nearly seemed to glow in the low lighting. The werewolf bared his fangs at Allen, a strip of gleaming striking white against the dark of his fur coat.

A pawed hand reached over and thumped him forward. It was barely a shove, but it struck his backside just right and knocked the wind out of him. It nearly sent him bowling over again.

"Come now, we don't have all day. I'll let you say you're last goodbyes before we kill you. That sounds rather generous, doesn't it!"

He turned his glare on the werewolf leader. He sounded so jovial and accommodating, but his tone was dripping with toxically sweet promises, a veneer of good fortune before the bad luck struck home. He twirled his hand toward Ash with emphasized flair, smiling all the while at Allen.

The one eye Ash had that wasn't swollen was glowering sullenly between the werewolf leader and Allen. He took a step forward. Then another. His eyes darted around, trying to map out an escape, a plan of attack, anything at all to turn the tide in his and Ash's favour. He went over everything he could see so far.

Ash wasn't healing. She was therefore more vulnerable than usual to injury. She was bound and unable to fight. How, though? He couldn't see. And he could see the flicker of fire from candles that littered the room, mostly in the corners or around the pillars. If she wanted, she could have summoned fire at any time, but if she hasn't done so now, then that too was wrong. They were up against four other werewolves. Humans were one thing. Inhuman monsters were quite another.

Everything just felt _wrong_.

Ash— _his Ash_ —wasn't fighting back, or perhaps she wasn't able to.

They needed silver. They needed fire.

They had neither.

A passage from Ash's book hit him in that moment.

' _Wolfsbane is poisonous to humans, but even more so to werewolves. If ingested or injected or inhaled, wolfsbane locks a werewolf in the form they are currently in, and keeps them from shifting. Their healing factor will also suffer, leaving them more vulnerable to injury and even death. Even a small amount can weaken a werewolf. A large enough dose can kill them outright. Only older werewolves racking up a few hundred or even thousands of years in age have built up a form of resistance, however marginal, against it. The older the werewolf, the larger the dose will be needed.'_

Allen didn't know how old Ash really was or how much wolfsbane it had taken to weaken her. It was the only explanation he could think of. She was poisoned. That must be why she wasn't able to fight back as effectively and why she was so injured and still suffering from her wounds.

 _All that's left is my Crown Clown. My hand might work for a time, but not the sword, that works against Noah and Akuma only._

Ash tipped her head to look at him as he approached, a mixture of pain and disappointment etched on her face. _I know, I know,_ he wanted to say. _I'm an idiot, for coming here like they expected me to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

She barked something at him and he stopped dead in his tracks, barely a meter away from reaching her. He stared, stiff-shouldered and surprised as he tried to process whether it had been an order or just a noise. She barked it again, and this time he understood. She had said ' _silver cuffs_ ' in Russian. The guttural syllables rattled over one another like growling thunder.

Now that he was more focused, he could smell something familiar: burning flesh. He glanced over his shoulder, shooting a glare at the four werewolves. The sallow-faced one that had escorted him was scowling right back at him. The fully shifted one was prowling on all fours behind the other three, golden eyes locked on him, a wolfish grin plastered on his snout and a rumbling whine in his chest. The leader looked unconcerned, examining the claws on one of his hands with more interest. The fourth was leaning against one of the pillars, appearing just as bored.

Apparently, they haven't heard what she said or maybe they just didn't understand Russian. Allen hoped it was both. He turned back and strode forward, knelt in front of her and carefully gathering her up in his arms. When he did, he peered over her shoulder and down. She lifted her arms as much as she could and he stared at the cuffs at her wrists. Already, the scarred flesh was burnt and irritated, the wounds weeping clear liquid and blood. She hissed quietly when they shifted and he could hear the silver actually _sizzle_ when it touched her. Just hearing it made the cold ball of ice in his chest grow bigger with dread.

But wait…he could see something, a kind of band on her forearm. Thin and tight, with a little shiny screen on her underarm. It clicked moments later and Allen realized that it was the same kind of armband the werewolves who had disappeared had on. Some kind of teleportation device, he deduced.

" _You're an idiot,_ " she said softly, but there was no malice in her tone. He sighed.

" _I know._ "

" _I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less,_ " she continued in Russian, her voice strained and tight. Ash was shaking from the pain. " _Get them off, please._ "

He didn't need any further prompting. He squeezed her a little tighter and muttered an apology when she grunted in discomfort. She replied it was fine and repeated at him to get the cuffs off. He shifted a little to hide his arm from sight as it transformed. His bladed hand flicked and he sliced through the cuffs without effort. He snatched up the pieces before they could hit the hardwood floor and tucked them into his sleeves.

Ash flexed her hands. They were trembling. She kept them behind her back for the time being.

" _Where's your weapons?_ " He asked her softly.

" _Bow's gone. Rifle and shotgun too. Pack leader has my knives. Skinny fuck who brought you in has my pistol. Lull them. Get me the white knife back. Now follow my lead._ "

" _What—_ "

She shouldered him in the chest before he could finish—not hard, but just enough to send him stumbling.

"You fucking idiot! I told you to run! I told you to take the fucking raft and get out of here! Himiko is gone, you could have saved yourself!" She snapped at him in English, her face drawn and pinched into a snarl.

He stared at her, baffled for only a moment, but he only allowed a beat to pass before he knew what she was getting at. Her eyes were still mismatched. There was malice in her voice, but it was all an act. He knew what she wanted now: Distract them.

Allen scowled back, donning his own mask for the charade.

"What did you expect me to do, leave you here with these monsters? There's no way I'd do that! You should know that by now!"

"Have you forgotten I'm _not human_? I can handle a beating better than you; now they're going to kill you, and frankly, maybe they should. You've been a pain in my ass since day one!"

He shot her a warning look and he saw the tiniest shrug from her shoulders and a quirk of her lips. A quick and quiet apology. Her eyes flicked away from him only a moment, looking behind him, and it was all the warning he needed.

"Oh my. It seems our little wolf has had a change of heart about you. How fickle of her, isn't it? Well, I suppose that's that, I'm afraid. You're time's up—"

A hand barely touched his shoulder before Allen spun around, quick as a wink, his clawed hand striking home. It was the skinny werewolf who had escorted him to the throne room he hit. Something went flying and there was blood and screaming and all manner of curses and promises of making him die slowly thrown at him as the lanky werewolf backpedaled away. The other three weren't idle long and they sprung forward: the big shifted werewolf, the leader, and the bored quiet one. The skinny werewolf flung himself onto the ground clutching at his bloody stump of a limb, already scrambling for the other half while leaving a messy trail on the floor.

Ash set off another rumble of growls just behind Allen.

"I thought they said he was just a stinkin' human?"

"Well, he's obviously more than that; I knew something didn't smell right about him!"

The big werewolf charged forward ahead of the other two, bearing down on Allen. Ash came barreling around with a hard kick in his gut. Despite her current condition, Allen knew she wasn't a slouch when push came to shove. The big werewolf went tumbling back a few good meters, looking bewildered between where Ash had been and where she was now. A flash of surprise crossed the others' faces, before it melted into utter rage and indignation. Even the leader of their little troupe was no longer smiling. The skinny werewolf that had escorted Allen finally reached his severed limb and was shakily pressing its stump to the rest of his arm.

"Grant. Is your arm reattaching?"

"Fuck. It's getting there, Dev. I can't—I-I need to bandage it for it to actually attach right, though. _Fucking_ _hell_."

The skinny werewolf, Grant, shot a murderous look over his shoulder towards Allen. It was all he needed to get his point across. Words weren't needed at all.

"So…you're not a normal human. It seems either our benefactor underestimated you, did a poor reconnaissance on you, or they decided to withhold information from us on purpose. Given who we're contracted with, I wouldn't put it past them to combine all three on purpose just to see what would happen." The leader, Dev, spoke quietly. There were no hidden depths of sickly sweet joy or elation marking his words like there had been earlier. It was all business, hard and sharp like the edge of a blade. His perpetual smile still hadn't returned and the glint of mocking in his eyes had dispersed completely. Allen felt his shoulders and back tensing, bracing for what was to come.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to underestimate humans, asshole?" Ash spat, lips peeling back to show off her fangs. The others mimicked her. Even from here, Allen could see they all had sharp canines, much too long to be of any use in a human's mouth.

"You'd choose humans over your own kind?" The skinny werewolf, Grant, spat between clenched teeth. "You'd rather screw them than eat them but I guess we shouldn't have expected much from a fucking human lover."

Allen bristled at the remark, words lining up on his lips, but Ash beat him to it.

"I'd rather side with the goddamned _Solarii_ over you fuckers, and that's saying something."

Allen glanced at her from the corner of his eye in surprise. She was glowering with all the heated loathing she could muster, her eyes glittering a bright hot yellow-gold.

 _Wait…_

She had had a black eye moments ago, swollen shut and purple-blue all over. Now it was going away with a sickly yellow-green colour left behind, and he could actually see her eye. All the cuts and abrasions and the split open lip she had been sporting was beginning to slowly but surely knit themselves back together as well. The other werewolves noticed this just as quickly and their demeanor changed instantly.

"Something's wrong. Why's the wolfsbane wearing off so quickly, Dev? File said she's only five hundred years and some change! We gave her enough to keep her on her ass for a week! She shouldn't be healing!" Grant piped up, his voice climbing an octave higher with apprehension.

The quietest werewolf of the group, the one who had yet to speak at all, ghosted forward at Grant's worried tone, his face pinched into a quiet snarl. Ash leapt forward, meeting him blow for blow. Between the two of them, Allen could only see a tangle of limbs—first human, then wolf, then both, fur and flesh changing seamlessly between the two of them. Ash's tail whipped back and forth as they tumbled and clashed, standing on end the whole time as she kicked, scratched, punched, and twisted about. When the two finally separated, the quiet one was standing in his fur, his human façade melting away in lieu of his wolfish identity. Bits of his clothes were littered about around them, his boots cast aside for his paws. His dark fur was smattered with blood here and there, although evidence of any injuries had already healed.

Ash was a little rougher-looking, her wounds slow to close and blood oozing from the latest ones, but they were healing all the same. The big werewolf whined impatiently from across the throne room, eyes darting between Dev, Ash, the quiet werewolf, and Allen.

"Can I? Can I? I'm _hungry_ , Dev. Can I eat him?"

Dev waved a hand impatiently, his glowing eyes still glued on Ash, his jaw pinched tight. She flipped him the middle finger, but Allen barely noticed, his attention diverted to the big werewolf.

"Go. Eat. Try not to make too much of a mess this time, Mercer. And I must stress that we can't kill her, we need her alive! Xerxes will have all of our pelts hanging in his office if she dies!"

The big wolf, Mercer, turned his massive skull toward Allen and smiled with all his teeth showing. Even Grant, sitting further back and clutching his severed arm to his stump, cast a wickedly dark smirk Allen's way. Mercer began advancing, his heavy footsteps causing the wooden floorboards beneath him to shudder and groan in protest.

"Ooh, boy. I love exotic new things to crunch my fangs into."

Allen's stomach twisted with anticipation at the hungry wolfish smile on Mercer's face and braced himself.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five: Left Behind

**Epilogue:  
Left Behind**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

" _There are a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes, or two days…we don't give that up. I don't want to give that up."_ **  
-Riley Abel, "** _ **Left Behind**_ **"**

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

He awoke to the sound of something was beeping.

It was a steady, monotonous noise that at first was soothing. After a time it began to gently but thoroughly bore its way through his consciousness and transitioned into the territory of annoying. When he stirred at last, he found his entire body hurting, like it was one giant ball of fleshy ache that wouldn't go away. He was lying down, though. He had blankets covering him and it was a little chilly.

Allen opened his eyes and found himself staring at dimly glowing lights above him. He allowed his vision to clear and his first impression was how odd home looked. All white and tan and…and…

Allen turned his head, felt the panic rush up and settled in his chest as he tried sitting up, only to collapse back into bed with a pained whimper. His stomach protested greatly at the movement and not-so-gently reminded him that he was injured. It didn't quite distract him enough for him to realize a few things: He wasn't home. This wasn't the cave, this wasn't his room, and there was no sign of Ash.

 _Ash…_

Flickers of memory began to piece themselves back together, bit by bit. The trickle soon turned to a roar, flooding through as he laid there remembering in agonizing detail what had happened and how he got to this place.

The werewolves, the fire, and then Ash…she was gone in a flash of light, and with it her warmth, her tears, her apologies…

"Oh, you're awake."

Allen turned his head toward the intrusive noise and winced. Light and colour seared his eyes and he had to blink and squint to see someone standing in a doorway across the room. A woman stood there, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her clothing immaculate and primed for work. She wore a crisp white lab coat over her clothes, completing the look that he immediately associated with 'doctor'. How unusual. There weren't any female doctors that he could recall in his time. That felt like another lifetime ago…

The woman's eyes roved over his form for only a moment before she was at his side by the bed, checking a series of instruments and machines. When she turned to him, she smiled, if only briefly. As she leaned closer, he caught a faint whiff of her perfume, but it was enough to make his stomach churn. Just how much was she wearing?

"How're you feeling?"

"Like a Trike stepped on me," he admitted, pushing aside his queasiness as best he could. "And I was chewed on by a pack of Compies for good measure."

He at least knew how one of those experiences felt like.

The woman furrowed her brow at him in confusion, her mouth opening to speak, but she stopped short when someone else stepped into the room.

"Hello, hello. What's this? He's finally awake? Dr. Hadley, I thought you'd have come to get me first."

"Doctor," the woman said curtly over her shoulder, her pretty lips pursing thinly. She glanced back at Allen.

Allen craned his body over as much as he could, seeing a wild-haired and lanky looking man donning a blue pinstriped suit, hiding beneath a large brown coat with his hands nonchalantly stuffed into his pockets. He beamed at Allen.

"Hello there. You must be Allen Walker. I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor…?" Allen parroted, glancing between the man and the woman, Dr. Hadley. She seemed unconcerned by his presence as she checked Allen's arm, and more importantly, at the IVs that were there. She turned toward a stand with a banana bag in it, the liquids inside it nearly half-gone. He noticed his right forearm was bandaged up rather heavily, but he was sure everything else was similarly dressed. His entire body simply _ached_.

"He's not a medical doctor, so don't ask him what's wrong with you. He just likes to call himself a doctor."

"I don't call myself after a _medical_ doctor. I'm just the Doctor," the man said, sounding mildly hurt. He glanced back toward Allen. "Although to be fair, I am rubbish at anything medically inclined, besides knowing the various diseases and ailments across the universe, so she's right, don't ask me if I can fix you in that field. I'd probably bugger it up even more."

The Doctor beamed again and winked at Allen.

"Mind if I have a few minutes with Allen alone, Dr. Hadley?"

The woman paused, turned to assess the Doctor, then Allen, then the Doctor again. She sized him up in the brief span of a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity passed between them all. She exhaled slowly.

"If anything happens—"

"Yes, yes, I know. Call for a ' _real_ ' doctor. Although I don't think I'll be inclined to call for Dr. House anytime soon, not after the last incident."

"Right." Dr. Hadley agreed as she smiled thinly again and she huffed a soft laugh. Then she was gone and Allen was alone with the strange man who called himself the Doctor. As soon as the woman was gone, the Doctor seemed to transform. His jovial appearance melted away and he seemed to almost sway on his long legs before he moved to collapse into a chair beside Allen's bed.

"Where am I?" Allen asked softly. "Where's Ash?"

"Ash? Ash, Ash, Ash…oh. OH. Right. _That_ Ash." The Doctor hissed air between his teeth, a light of recognition belatedly going off in his dark eyes. "Where do I start…"

The Doctor hummed for a moment, drumming his fingers against the armrests of his chair. Allen was immediately reminded of Ash; she was never truly idle herself, not unless something was upsetting her. Then it was time to worry when she sat very still and did nothing.

"Where is she?" He pressed again, his voice soft and strained and urgent.

The Doctor's face fell, even as he locked gazes with Allen.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but…she's…she's still on Yamatai."

Allen felt sick and his stomach twisted painfully like a knife had been buried in it. "Where am I?"

"Safe. Relatively speaking. Safer than on Yamatai. Look, Allen…" The Doctor scooted a little closer, dragging the chair with him. "If you'd stayed with her, you wouldn't be alive right now. I'm sure you've noticed you haven't had the best of luck trying to move, right? Do you remember how that happened?"

Allen's throat was dry and growing tight and pinched, so he didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded.

"The werewolves…they came to take Ash. They were going to kill me and…we fought back. They tried poisoning her, to make her complacent, but it wore off. They didn't…"

He wracked his brain and found it slipping away already. He had had it, he could remember it just fine earlier, but now…

The Doctor nodded along as he spoke, patiently waiting. Allen groped for the words, the memories, but it was muddled.

"If you're having troubles remembering, it's because of your time spent on Yamatai. Your memory is probably clear one moment, fuzzy the next. There's a bit of a time distortion around the island that causes fluctuation with memory, but it'll pass."

"Time distortion?"

"How to explain…imagine a bubble, if you will, around the island. Time is moving a lot faster inside the bubble than it is outside of it. It's sped up inside that bubble. In there, it's been about five hundred years, give or take a few decades, and out here…it's only been a few months. That's roughly how long Lupin—sorry, you know her as Ash—has been there. You, however…you've only been on the island for a few days, outside the island, for us."

Allen stared at the Doctor dumbly, processing what he had just said. Only as it began to sink in and actually make sense did it hit him.

"She's…she's been…alive for that long?"

He vaguely recalled one of the werewolves mentioning just the same, but he hadn't really registered it. He had been too busy bracing for a fight, not on the trash talk being exchanged. Something else occurred to him.

"You said her name—it wasn't Ash. That it was Lupin…she doesn't remember that name. She doesn't remember anything."

"A side effect, yes. It affects long-lived beings like werewolves a lot worse than it does humans. You'd think it'd be the other way around, but well…" the Doctor nodded, looking less and less like the lively man that had stepped inside the room earlier. He looked so much older behind such a young face. He couldn't help but recall how Ash looked much the same; almost like this man and she were mirrors of one another. "With time sped up, she's aging a lot quicker and her memories decay at a faster rate. If she were able to leave that island, it's theoretically possible for the memories she's lost to return. But until we can actually get her away, we can't do much."

"But you know who she is?" He pressed, both hopeful and anxious at the answer.

The Doctor smiled, but it was sad and fleeting.

"She took a bullet for me. Saved my life, even if she knew they were made of silver and could have killed her on the spot. Barely knew her at the time, but when I learned more about her later on, the more I realized what a brilliant person she was."

Allen's throat pinched shut for a moment and he struggled to swallow past it.

"She can be," he agreed when he trusted himself to speak again. The Doctor shared another smile, before another light went off in his eyes and he jolted up, rushing around to the other side of the bed. Allen followed his movements, puzzled, as the Doctor bustled toward a bedside table on his other side. He produced a decently filled folder and offered it to Allen.

"I figured you were going to have questions. For once, I'm prepared. Well, I'm actually _always_ prepared. _Well_ …to be fair, it's never in the right sequence and order, but things tend to work out regardless."

The Doctor's smile flickered, faded, returned. Allen hesitated as he took the folder.

"There's…something else, and I'm afraid it's not entirely good news."

"What is it?"

"Your arm…"

Allen's eye flicked to his left hand—the one the Doctor had handed the folder to—then back to the Doctor. He smiled sparsely.

"I was born with it. There's nothing wrong with my arm."

"Not that one," the Doctor corrected as he nodded over, and Allen's smile faltered, disappeared entirely. He glanced at his right arm, the bandaged one.

"You were fighting _werewolves_ , Allen. Like Lup—Ash, _sorry_. She's got so many names now—do you know anything about them? I know you _lived_ with one for some time, but…" He trailed off, twirling his hand as though trying to conjure the right words.

"Ash…she had a book. She would add things she's encountered on Yamatai into it. Werewolves were in it," Allen replied slowly, glancing back at the other man. It clicked seconds later. "Wait…wait. I never…I didn't…"

"You're having troubles remembering, but it's going to come to you. You were bitten and a few of your organs and part of your small intestine were both ruptured and shredded. You were nearly dead when you came to us, but we fixed you enough for your body to recover naturally. I'm sorry, Allen. I'm so, so sorry, but…you're already changing."

Allen stared at the Doctor, a strange and surreal feeling of detachment taking hold of him.

No, that…that couldn't be right. The werewolves…they hadn't bitten him, had they? He remembered the big one, Mercer, trying his best but Allen was much faster after he knew what to expect. The lumbering monster was fast, true, and nearly had Allen a few times, but…

He couldn't have been bitten.

He was already tearing at the bandage on his arm. The Doctor waited, unalarmed as Allen ripped away the gauze and the tape holding it together. He could see bits of his arm, slightly pale and discoloured here and there, and when it was all gone at last, he stared.

There were divots in his arm. Pale and smooth and jagged in appearance, they were streaked in comparison to the healthy tissue around it. The longer he stared, the clearer the pattern became, though, even when he tried to deny it, explain it away as something completely different.

Bite marks.

The sight of the scars brought back the memory and the iron vice clamped itself around his lungs and throat and squeezed hard.

He had taken out Mercer, decapitated the big hulking werewolf with his claws, but it was the quiet werewolf that Allen thought Ash had been fighting that did it. The dark-haired one who he hadn't seen until the last moment, when his furred snout had clamped around his forearm and crushed it easily as though it had been made of fragile glass. A fiery pain had shortly followed up in his gut, although at the time, he hadn't known the werewolf was trying to disembowel him as well. He had been too busy trying to focus on getting the werewolf off of his arm.

Now his arm was completely healed, like nothing had transpired, and the only evidence were the scars left behind. Allen could scarcely breathe as his other hand hovered just above the damning marks on his arm. Without looking up or at the Doctor, he asked, "And Ash?"

"I told you…she didn't make it. She's still on Yamatai. _Alive_. But she's…"

The Doctor trailed off, sounding so wretched and sincerely apologetic and Allen hated him in that moment for his pity. Hated him because he knew that Ash was on Yamatai, and yet he had done nothing to get her off the island, nothing at all.

"How did I get off the island?"

"Those werewolves that were attempting to retrieve Ash, they had personal transporters. They can only work on the person they are being worn by. Ash…I'm assuming she used the one they meant for her on you."

"The other werewolves had their own; I saw a few of them leave using them. The ones that stayed behind must have had their own!"

"Allen…we're able to see, from time to time, a feed on the island. It's…complicated to explain away in detail, but in short, we can catch glimpses of things that happen. That's how we knew you were living there for quite some time. That's how we knew about the other werewolves. It's difficult to keep the feed going, considering the time distortion and the amount of lag we get, but…we saw the fight. Or the aftermath, rather. The one she used on you, however…its circuits burnt up. It was purposefully made for a one-time trip only. We couldn't use it to return even if we wanted. I'm sorry." The Doctor spoke gently as he rounded the bed, although he seemed less interested in sitting back down again. There was just too much energy in his frame for that now. He had pulled something out of his pockets on his coat, some kind of long metal tubing with clear bits and baubles of some sort and he was flipping it in the air and catching it distractedly.

"You were there. Try to remember. She burned them all up. To save you."

Allen groped for the memory and he could only vaguely recall the smell of charred flesh, burnt fur, and Ash holding him. She had asked if he trusted her and kept telling him to hold his breath and close his eyes, don't open them yet, not yet, not yet, _not yet_ …

And he was trying to grit his teeth past the pain in his arm and the other in his gut.

"They almost killed you. We managed to catch the tail end of things, prepped up the operating room for you just in time when you came in."

"'We'?"

"The other people here. You'll meet them soon enough," the Doctor replied flippantly, casually waving his hand dismissively at Allen. He sighed and it sounded like such a burdensome thing to elicit. "Allen, she used the transporter they were intending for her on you. She chose to _save you_ rather than herself. She gave up her chance for freedom to try and make sure you had a chance for survival."

Allen closed his eyes, sinking back against his pillow. He was drained of what little energy he had. His head was pounding, his gut still ached from apparently nearly being disemboweled, but most of all, his heart hurt. Of course Ash would choose him over herself. She always seemed to do that, whether it came down to the big or little things. It wasn't that she was utterly altruistic and selfless in her acts; it was mainly in part because she saw herself as less in comparison to others.

"She does that sometimes," he finally said quietly past a tight throat. "I left her behind."

"You didn't choose it."

"No," Allen agreed reluctantly, his eyes growing hot with tears. "But I broke my promise to her."

"What promise?" The Doctor pressed gently. Allen swallowed past the hard lump in his throat and had to struggle to breathe when his throat pinched shut. Only when he trusted himself to speak did he answer the Doctor.

"I promised her that we'd get off the island _together_."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

The Doctor left and Dr. Hadley returned shortly after, checking in on him. She stared at the torn bandages decorating his bed with disapproval, although she said little on the matter when she saw the healed state of his arm afterwards. When she left, he was alone with his thoughts and the incessant beeping—a heart monitoring machine, he was told it was.

He distracted himself with the file the Doctor had left him, realizing he hadn't taken a peek at it yet, not once. He almost didn't, hesitant on prying into Ash's life without her there. She would have wanted to know, but if she could remember anything concrete, would she have wanted him to know? For a while, he abstained, but curiosity finally got the better of him and he popped the file open.

The first thing he caught sight of, besides the wall of text on a few sheets of paper, was the photograph paper clipped to the front. Or rather, a series of photographs, he came to find.

The first was a picture of her, a bust photograph in colour and she was noticeably younger. She looked to be in her early teens, if he were to judge accurately enough. Perhaps around thirteen. She had no scars, both her eyes were a stormy blue-grey, and her dark russet hair wasn't tipped with the red he was more familiar with. He almost believed he was looking at someone completely different if it weren't for the winsome, crooked smile she sported. She also didn't have the choker-styled tattoo on her neck he had grown accustomed to.

The next photograph, she was perhaps a few years older, more or less the same in appearance, but her hair…it was rainbow-coloured! Dyed that way, most likely, he reasoned after the shock wore off. And she had the tattoo around her neck, as well as the paw print and the star on her shoulder, and he could just see the green four-leafed clover with the number thirteen imprinted on her left hand. She was leaning up against a car with her arms crossed over her chest as she was decked out in a simple outfit consisting of boots, black tank top and jeans with a myriad of doodles on them. She was so much shorter, too, he realized, without her back paws giving her added height. He had to do a double-take. He wasn't used to seeing shoes on her. It looked so strange on her. He was so used to the paws.

The car she leaned against was big and sporty and flashy and it was a bright golden yellow, with black stripes along its hood. Ash had a cocky grin plastered on her face, a challenge declared clear as day in the way she held herself and looked. So determined, so sure of herself. He could practically hear her taunting whoever was watching, laughing at them even.

The third one photo, she wasn't alone in it. She was in a military uniform of some kind, tan and fitted to her form with the sleeves rolled up neatly to her biceps to show off her lean and muscled arms, a hat perched on her head. Her eyes were mismatched in this photo, it was clear to see, but she was more or less the same. She had a small, crooked smile on her face that belied her self-assurance, arms crossed over her chest in a defiant and challenging manner as she assessed the photographer coolly. Behind her, a very large man that was nearly a foot and a half taller than her and twice as broad as she was in the same uniform and stance as her: arms crossed, sleeves rolled, hat perched on his shaved head, a smirk on his dark face. Behind them, a tan-painted military vehicle similar to the ones on Yamatai—but more advanced in design and structure and more heavily armoured, Allen deduced—sat idly by. At the bottom of the photo, a line of text was boldly printed: _Come at us, bro_.

Somehow, Allen was unsurprised at the declaration and it brought a smile to his lips, but it was short-lived.

The last photograph was of her reclining and relaxed on a couch, the lighting set low and she had an acoustic guitar in hand, appearing unaware to the photographer. Her attention was more on the strings and the placement of her hands than anything else, her mismatched eyes half-closed and her mouth partly open, as though she was going to sing. The fingers of one hand were splayed along the neck of the instrument, the others curled in preparation to strum a chord along the body. She was the most similar in this photo to how he remembered her now: red-tipped hair, the scar across her nose and cheek, wolfish ears on display, the scars on her wrists and arms.

Whoever it was that had taken the photo, they had managed to capture a softer side of her that she's rarely shown to others. To him. Allen stifled down the slight of jealousy that burbled up in response and instead, he focused on the gratefulness that Ash could show this side of her to others, _period_.

Allen pulled the photos out and set them aside, turning to the dossier inside, skimming over the words typed there: Name, London Marie Ferus; Born 8 April 1985; Blood Type, O-negative; Species, Mutant-Werewolf; Mutant Abilities, advanced pyrokinesis, minimal electrokinesis…

The list went on and on, a record of details that most would have found mildly interesting or incredibly dull, but Allen found himself absorbed in them, focusing on the important tidbits.

Her name was London but she preferred Lupin. He'd have to remember that for the future, but deep down, she'd always be Ash to him. It was going to be hard to break that train of thought, especially after seven years. The more he read, the more he wished she could have told him all of this herself. The more he learned, the more he felt both guilt and elation that he was finally learning more about Ash.

 _If we can get her off that island…she might come to remember all this. I can read a file all I want, but the memories…they'll be expressed differently by the person who experienced them compared to any record._

She had been a former street racer—he assumed it had something to do with her car—and had also been an accomplished musician: formally trained in piano and violin, and then learned on her own to play the guitar. She had been born a mutant—the ability to summon her flames made so much sense now—and had later been bitten by a werewolf. She had been a military member—evidenced by the photograph of her in uniform—and worked on the repairs of the vehicles and was also a driver. That made sense too, how she knew the mechanics of the boat and the trucks and how she lamented their rotten states on Yamatai. So much of herself and her own foundations she fell back upon, and yet she didn't know about it at all or why either.

After a time, he deposited the file back on the table, his head spinning and the words on the pages were melting into one another and not helping matters much. He was asleep in a matter of moments after he pulled his hand away and back onto the bed.

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

"Hey. Wake up."

Allen blinked, slowly at first, then rapidly a few times. When he sat up, he was blissfully free of any pain his stomach had given him from the last time he had been conscious. He looked around and immediately spotted the source of the insistent voice: it was an older gentleman, donning a casual ensemble of jeans and t-shirt whilst leaning on a cane and sporting a two-day stubble on his face. Piercing blue eyes were boring into his own, a half-smile pulling at his lips. Allen felt like he wasn't being observed like a person, but as an object. The feeling left a shiver rolling down his spine.

"What is it?" Allen huffed back. He was still so tired. Everything still hurt, but thankfully not as much as before.

"You're being discharged. That means, you're vacating the premises, starting in about, ohhh…" The man made a great show of looking at something—and Allen quickly realized it was really nothing—on his wrist before looking back at Allen. "Five minutes ago."

"What? But I was injured. I…my arm and…my stomach…" His arm was healed, he belatedly realized. And his gut no longer ached and he could actually sit up now without pain.

"Not anymore," the man continued, limping around to the side of his bed. His long stride, while impeded by the limp, didn't lessen at all. He quickly snatched up something from the bedside table, and came away with the file Allen had left there. He quickly scrambled after the limping man, throwing covers and driving his legs over the edge. He was immediately reminded of the machinery he was still connected to when the IV line in his arm jerked painfully and he stopped. The limping man continued well away from the bedside, popping open the file with only mild interest.

"Who the hell are you?" Allen demanded, splitting his attention between trying to figure out how to disassemble the tubing from his arm and the man with Ash's file.

"Greg House. Medical Doctor-type. And you, you are something of a hot ticket item at the moment. I've had people skulking around my office asking questions about you over the last few days, harassing my team, and more importantly, _me_." He paused, as though for an added affect as he watched Allen struggling to get the medical apparatuses off of him. "There's quite a lot of interest in your target-practice for a girlfriend."

So this was the man that the Doctor and Dr. Hadley both knew. Did they have to work with this insufferable person? Allen pitied them both if they did. He was an utter ass. Allen glowered mildly at him and finally managed to unsnag everything, pulling the needle out and letting it drop on the bed.

"And what does that mean?" Barely two minutes with the man and he was already disliking Dr. House.

"Haven't you read?" House remarked as he smiled thinly, waggling the file. "Oh, no, you didn't, because I have it now. Let's see…says here she was shot in the head with silver—fatal for werewolves, apparently, and you're lumped in that group now, so I'd be careful touching cutlery for a while—and the first thing the surgeons did was to have her ruined eyeball replaced with a cybernetic implant. Because that's the completely _rational_ thing to do with people who are just a few shades shy of being _dead_."

Allen stopped halfway of the bed, his thoughts of snatching back up the file coming to a grinding halt. He didn't recall reading any of that in her file. The telling smile on House's face made him doubt the man's words.

"You're lying. She hasn't been shot in the head." _Certainly not by a silver bullet, at least._

House shrugged. "Sure. I'm lying. It's not in this file. It's in another file that's been sitting on my desk for almost a year now. But let me ask you this: why were her eyes so blue as a little girl and suddenly, she's got half-and-half nowadays?"

Allen didn't have an answer. Dr. House tucked the file under his arm, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. He rattled it for a moment, popped the top off and dumped a few into his hand, downing them into his mouth. When Allen opened his mouth to speak—so many questions were now rattling in his head—he was promptly interrupted when the door slid open and admitted Dr. Hadley into the room. She took on cursory glance over Allen, then Dr. House and the reaction was instant annoyance.

"House," she said sternly.

"Ruh-roh!" House remarked as Dr. Hadley strode forward and snatched the file away, glanced at its contents, then doubled back toward Allen.

"You shouldn't be up."

"He's being discharged. He's on his way out."

"Did he sign the paperwork?"

"What paperwork is there to sign? We're not even being held accountable to a proper system or even a legitimate medical board! We're on an island that nobody knows exists! Who the hell is going to read all that boring legal crap, let alone draft it up? Not me, that's for sure. Maybe Ted, that sad lawyer. If he hasn't jumped off the building yet. Or got pushed off by the Janitor." House exclaimed, sounding mildly exasperated. Dr. Hadley shot him another annoyed glance over her shoulder as she assessed the delicate medical equipment before she sighed, turning back to Allen. She handed him Ash's file and he took a little too quickly, hugging it closely in one arm protectively.

"Unfortunately, he's right. We're lucky we have the things we do right now, but we're running low and can't keep you here for much longer. Someone else in more critical condition might need this bed soon."

"Going on ten minutes over discharge time," House said behind them. Both Dr. Hadley and Allen ignored him as she began to methodically help remove other items on Allen's person and checking his other various bandaged parts.

"Amazing," she muttered softly as she finished peeling away the bandages that had covered Allen's abdomen. There were faint traces of puckered scarring beneath the stitches where he'd been stabbed in his stomach and it overlapped the larger one from his sword. "This was a complete wreck when you were first brought in…we almost didn't think you were going to make it. No offense."

"None taken." Allen said, offering a nervous smile. From what he could recall, Dr. Hadley was right. He had been an utter wreck. He certainly felt like it when he'd first woken up.

Dr. House had grown ostensibly silent in the background, unnervingly so. Allen met the man's gaze when he glanced across the way and was startled to see his intense blue gaze locked onto him. There were gears turning in the man's head, but what he was thinking, it was anyone's guess.

"We'll remove these stitches before we release you. The Doctor will be picking you up."

Nearly an hour later, Allen had been moved from the room he had been staying in to another smaller one He was checked over thoroughly once again to ensure he was healed, had any stitches removed, and given a fresh pair of clothes to wear before being discharged. It all felt too surreal and he didn't quite soak in the details for the duration of that last hour spent in the hospital. He barely even realized he had slipped on some donated clothes until he was well enough out the doors.

The Doctor wasn't outside as promised as he stepped outside, blinking into the bright afternoon sun. He scanned the area and nearly had to do a double-take. Across the way, perched atop a rotund-roofed home, was the strangest creature he'd ever seen. And he's lived with peculiar-looking dinosaurs for roughly seven years.

He was almost fooled into believing it was one, if it weren't the excessive spikes that adorned its skull, spine and long, crooked tail or the incredibly loud and deep purple its scaly hide was painted. A huge, bulbous yellow eye blinked at him, head bobbing as it turned its entire body and fluttered its arms—no, its _wings_ —and squawked curiously at him. They stared at one another for nearly a minute.

"Oi! Allen!"

Allen turned at the voice and saw the Doctor—still wild-haired and decked in his blue suit and long brown coat—waving at him from down the street. He grinned broadly as he approached and immediately pulled Allen into a crushing hug as soon as he was within arm's length. Startled, Allen stood there dumbly for a few belated moments before hesitantly returning the gesture.

When the Doctor broke the embrace, he held Allen at arm's length, surveying him all over and still grinning.

"Look at you! All healed up and in record time! Not bad for almost a week's worth of sitting in bed after surgery!"

"A-a week? Has it really been that long?"

The Doctor didn't miss a beat. "Yes! And what a week it's been! Quite a lot of buzz surrounding you, old boy, and it's because you did what no one else did."

"And what exactly is that?" Allen asked, distracting himself to glance back at the strange creature on the rooftop. It was gone, he came to find. The Doctor grabbed his hand and started tugging him along.

"You stayed with her."

Allen felt his heart skip a beat.

"Ash?"

"Yes. Everyone else wasn't willing to stay there. Not on that island, no. Bit of a daft move on your end, but it worked out all the same."

Allen pulled a face behind the Doctor's back as he turned on his heel. Allen took the time to survey his surroundings as they walked. The hospital behind them was a tall building and looked nothing like the ones he was used to—either the ones from in his time or the broken sad husks of Yamatai. There was an eclectic mess waiting for him up ahead. There were similarly designed wooden homes—brightly painted and over the bowers of the homes were the carved heads of great beasts, and lounging on their rooftops were more wild creatures—all of them spiked, scaled, and winged in various shapes and sizes.

There were other homes as well—some that looked more modern and robust in design, others a little more rundown but homely and lived in well enough. The streets alternated between cobblestones, packed dirt, stone flagstaffs, and paved road. The more Allen saw, the more it became apparent just how cobbled together this place was. It was as though somebody had decided to take vastly differently designed homes and places of business and simply stitched them together to create a smelting pot of a town. It was all so mismatched and bizarre to look at.

"Um…Doctor?"

"Yes, Allen?"

"I don't understand. What is this place, exactly?"

Compared to the sterility and vaguely familiar design of the hospital's grounds, the rest of this place was too esoteric for his tastes.

"Well, it's…it's all pushed up together, isn't it? King's Rock Isle, we've come to call it. Don't ask me why, I didn't get a vote in. I wouldn't have called it that myself, but it was done before I got back here."

"Doctor…"

He stopped walking and when he wouldn't budge, even after the Doctor tugged him along twice, the manic man stopped as well. His beaming faltered and a solemn look crossed his face.

"How are we going to get Ash off of Yamatai? If I've really been out for a week recovering, then that means _years_ have passed on Yamatai for her. Surely you've at least had the time to come up with a plan to recover her."

The look the Doctor gave him was so pitiable and the answer that accompanied it nearly broke his heart.

"Allen…we can't get on the island. You, me, and nearly every person and creature on this island…we can't get past that—well, _bubble_ isn't the right word, but neither is _barrier_ , but it's the closest thing to it. I'm…I'm sorry. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to get back on the island."

"Then what have you been _doing_? Simply watching her and seeing how she gets hurt, how she lets herself get injured saving people? _What have you been doing in the meantime?_ "

The Doctor didn't even flinch at the snappish tone. Allen almost felt badly for it after, but not quite. He was still reeling at the fact that Ash was _still there_ , and he…he wasn't. He wouldn't want to go back to Yamatai, ever, if he could help it. But as long as she was still stuck there, he wanted to get her away from that place. The Doctor waited for a few extra seconds before he answered, and it seemed as though he was choosing his words with great care.

"Allen, listen to me. I promise you, we aren't just sitting idly by while she waits on that island to be rescued. She's a survivor, you know that better than anyone else here. And as long as she keeps on surviving, she knows we're coming, regardless of whether or not she remembers us. She _knows_ , deep down inside, she knows this. And she's holding onto that. I know she is." He stepped forward, keeping his dark eyes locked on Allen. Carefully, he reached forward and placed his hands on Allen's shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "We are working on a way to disable the—well, again, barrier isn't technically the right word, but it is the closest we can call it as such," he paused, shaking his thoughts away. "We're working on a way to get it disabled, either way. We can't broach it, but it can be disabled. Not easily. It's taking a lot longer than we'd like. And believe me, you're not the only one who wants her off that island, far from it. So please…patience."

Allen wanted to argue. It wasn't good enough, he wanted to tell the Doctor. Waiting idly by, twiddling his thumbs and sitting off in a corner wasn't going to get anything done faster. He found it ironic that he wanted to leap into action so readily and so quickly. It was something Ash would have done as well.

"Yes, yes, I know. If it was you, she'd be riding on dragon-back this very instant, if not sooner, charging ahead to try and breech Yamatai to get you back. Believe me, we tried, and it was not a pretty aftermath."

The Doctor grinned at Allen's baffled look. "Oh, yes! Dragons! Just what did you think those things were up there, what with all the wings and spikes and scales, eh?"

He made a grand sweeping gesture toward the creatures, some flying now and others leaping off rooftops and across the streets. They were all so wildly different in design—broad crooked jaws, jagged toothed, knob-scaled, snake-necked, stumpy limbed, lizard-like, finned faces, massive claws, whipping tails, bright and dull colours alike—they were so similar and yet so vastly diverse than the dinosaurs he'd grown to know. A few dragons belched out bursts of flame, causing several others to take flight, screeching and hissing all the while.

The Doctor chose that moment in Allen's bemused state to give a sharp, piercing whistle. Allen winced at the volume, and cast a cursory glance at the taller man.

"He'll be here soon."

"Who—?"

A roar cut him off. He lifted his head and noticed out the corner of his eye, the other dragons stilling as well, craning their heads in the direction of the noise. Movement caught his attention and before he could respond, a large slinky _something_ came hurtling over the rooftop of a building. It landed before him and the Doctor, hunched over with its wings billowed out around it and back hunched like a great cat preparing to pounce. Bright green eyes glittered menacingly like wildfire, pinning him and the Doctor in its stare.

Shiny black scales, a triangular head, piercing gaze—another dragon, but this one was sleeker in build and design than all the others he's glimpsed. The dragon snorted through flared nostrils, turning its gaze toward the Doctor. A softer light grew in its eyes and the tension that had riddled its frame eased up a considerable amount. It mewled at the Doctor, as though inquiring something.

"Yes, yes, it's him. I know, it took him long enough."

Allen glanced at the other man, but was immediately beset when the dragon leapt forward, head-butting him down to the ground. The black dragon's face was all Allen could see now, bright green eyes and wide black pupils, a toothless smile greeting him while a giant paw kept him pinned to the ground. Allen wasn't sure what to worry about more: the weight of a very heavy animal on top of him that could easily cave his chest in or the sharp claws tipping the paw holding him that could easily tear him asunder. The creature, however, seemed less interested in that and more focused on purring and nuzzling his face. Allen was justifiable taken aback by the onslaught of sudden affection.

"Oi, play nice now! You don't want to be the one to put him back in the hospital!"

The dragon lowed softly and snorted against Allen's face, coating him in a fishy smell. Allen tried not to gag and the dragon mewled concerned little noises at him, stubby snout twitching.

"C'mon now, Whiplash," the Doctor stepped forward and pulled at the dragon, and after a moment's recalcitrance, finally got off of him. Allen carefully picked himself back up, keeping his eyes pinned on the creature.

"Whiplash?"

A sad smile briefly touched the Doctor's lips. He didn't meet Allen's gaze. Not quite.

"He's Lu…Ash's dragon. One of the only Night Furies in existence. There's eight in total, to be exact. Chief Hiccup was the first to ride one, though. You'll meet him and Toothless later."

"There're others?"

"There were."

"What happened to them?"

The sad smile dissipated. Whiplash visibly wilted.

"They were taken away."

"By who?"

The Doctor gave him a level gaze and it chilled Allen with just how much quiet fury there was in the man's dark eyes, an anger he hadn't ever quite seen in Ash even. And he's seen her angry before, time and again. This was a man not to be trifled with when furious, he reasoned.

" _Chimera Dynamics._ "

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

According to the Doctor, the cottage by the sea had been Ash's. Or Lupin's. Whichever one she preferred to be called. She could tell him herself when she was back and could recall everything from her life.

The cottage itself was sizeable enough: two story, with a mixture of hard wood and stone on the outside, with a spacious covered porch that covered the whole front of the structure. The property around it was bare except for the wildflowers and weeds that choked the area. It looked underused and abandoned, almost. Whiplash danced excitedly behind him as he mounted the steps, the wood creaking tiredly beneath his shoes. The front door was locked, but the Doctor had a key for it. Of course he did _. He seems to know the Ash before she ended up on Yamatai. The one I didn't get to know. The one who took a silver bullet for him._

He sighed, pushing away the thoughts. She'd remember everything once she was off the island. He wanted to believe that, wanted to have faith in the Doctor's word, but Ash had certainly rubbed off on him. Her realistic views on things had tainted his own ideals and he would reserve that judgement until otherwise proven wrong.

Inside the cottage, it was dark and dusty. He crinkled his nose as he stepped into the threshold. Whiplash gently butted his head against Allen's backside and he reached behind him to gently pat the dragon on the head. The Night Fury lowed softly in return, his excited energy suddenly dropping almost to nothing. The ear nub-horns atop his head drooped considerably as his nostrils flared while he sniffed experimentally.

"He hasn't been the same since she's been away. But maybe you'll be able to lift his spirits. You'll smell like her," the Doctor had told him, right before giving him a crash-course lesson on learning how to fly on a dragon without a saddle.

Allen sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as he looked into the room and saw through the murky grey shadows that covered the place. To his right, there was a small office space, complete with stacks of books, papers, pens, pads, and an array of screens. Computers, if he recalled what Ash had called them correctly. Their screens were dark and dusty, just like everything else.

There were no signs of intrusion, if the buildup of dust was anything to go by.

 _No one's been in here, not since she left_ , he noted sadly as he glanced down at the undisturbed hardwood floors. Whiplash trailed in after him, sniffing at this object or that, grumbling softly all the while. He ventured into the living room and after turning on the lights, found the hardwood floors covered in all manner of Oriental rugs and throws, the couch plush and comfortable with throw pillows and soft, warm blankets. The coffee table was nearly identical to the one she had at home on Yamatai, except this one was piled with books of all sorts and not covered in dents and dings to mar the polished finish. In the corner of the room, hiding in the shadows just out of reach of the light from the windows, Allen could see a piano and bench, the keys hiding from sight.

It made his stomach twist a little at the sight, a painful reminder skittering across his mind. He quickly turned away from it.

The kitchen was clean, not a dish to be found, although there was also no food. There were plenty of spices and bags of coffee and some tea, however, stocked inside the cabinets. A lonely footstool sat hiding in the corner of the kitchen. _Most likely because she couldn't reach anything in the cabinets without assistance, not with her shoulders being the way they are._

The dining area was small and cramped but strangely comfortable at the same time, with an old oak table and four chairs carved with floral designs on their backs. A plain ceramic coffee mug sat on the table, the only conspicuous thing out of place. On the side, he could read out text that said, ' _I Run on Caffeine and Hate_ '. Allen felt a wry smile tug at his lips briefly and he huffed a laugh.

How appropriate, if a bit vaguely concerning.

Allen ventured upstairs, hand tracing gently along the banister as he ascended when something odd hit him. He could smell her. The faint whiff of her mixed scent, of wood smoke and crushed pine and that hint of sea salt and…and something else. Something unique, something new, something indescribable. It was something that made him yearn.

Allen knew it was old, but in the split moment he caught a whiff of it, it felt new and sudden and it wouldn't go away now. He found five bedrooms upstairs, most of them small and furnished in a very Spartan manner, except for the master bedroom. It was only slightly larger than the others, and it had signs of Ash written all over it. The rumpled comforter on the bed, the piles of blankets and furs, and over in the corner a recurve bow unstrung with a full quiver of arrows, and beside it an acoustic guitar on a stand. There was a set of clothes on the floor and an old sneaker, its toe just barely peeking out from beneath the edge of the bed. There were little figurines that sat on the nightstand—little Night Furies, each carved and painted in unique patterns and shapes and not just the uniform jet black that Whiplash was. Beneath their wooden forms, there were charcoal sketches, these more dragon-themed and at least one bird's eye view of the island town proper. Sunlight was just barely able to filter past the dust-smattered window to illuminate all of these things in the room, casting it in a faded gold light.

And all around, he could smell her scent, concentrated strongly in this one absolutely lived-in room, a tantalizing smell that was both old and familiar to him. It mingled dangerously with the smell of abandoned dust. Whiplash whimpered behind him, snuffling at Allen when he didn't move for a full minute as he took in the sight. The full brunt of the fact that she wasn't here and he was hit him hard in that moment and he broke down, falling to his knees and curling up against the edge of the bed. He cried for what felt like hours and perhaps it had been. He cried until he felt drained of energy and dry-eyed and with an aching raw throat and his head pounding away.

He was partly grateful that Whiplash was the only one to witness it, and that the Doctor had strangely and abruptly decided to not intrude on exploring the cottage with Allen. He was grateful that no one else had ventured out to see him, that the cottage was alone on a seaside cliff far from town proper. He was glad, as the Doctor had told him, that most of everyone was having a town meeting in Meade Hall and weren't due to be released for quite some time.

Whiplash, he decided after he'd calmed to slow hiccupping breaths, was a much better support to lean on. The dragon was in mourning as well for his lost rider, and Allen was probably the next closest thing he'll get to Ash. The Night Fury had curled around Allen while he cried, blanketing them beneath one of his wings. He smelled like the air that had been electrified right before the strike of lightning, and of the deep woods, and a hint of fish. It was strangely comforting, blanketed under the canopy of a leathery wing and pressed to the side of the dragon. Whiplash was surprisingly warm, and that comfort reminded him of Ash all over again.

 _She was like a dragon herself sometimes,_ he mused. Calm one moment, raging the next, and always warm to the touch. Wild and willful, and not completely tame, even when she seemingly appeared to be at times.

He was almost lulled to sleep by the long, peaceful breaths Whiplash was taking when they were both startled awake by a loud pounding noise coming from downstairs. Allen jerked upright and Whiplash leapt up with a yowl and an arched back and narrowed slits for pupils. When his lips peeled back to reveal his gums, conical teeth sprang up into existence, giving the dragon a more menacing and ominous appearance. It was almost dark outside, but there were still inklings of sunlight still lingering as he and Whiplash made their way downstairs. The pounding against the door came again, making Allen's head throb in time with each percussion. They sounded like every hit was being struck right up against his ears, not all the way downstairs.

When he reached the front door and opened it, he was nearly sideswiped by a fist raised up to hit the wood again. He ducked out of the way just in time to allow the young man at the door to resettle his balance. Shaggy, wind-blown hair, bright green eyes, a leather ensemble reminiscent of a riding uniform—and there was another Night Fury right behind him on the porch steps. He looked nearly identical to Whiplash. This Night Fury was larger, broader. Except for the nick in Whiplash's right ear nub-horn and smaller stature, they could have been twins.

Perhaps he was older?

Allen refocused on the young man, who sheepishly ran a hand through his hair, offering a faint grin.

"Ah. Okay—okay, good, you're actually here. I was afraid there for a minute, when you didn't come to the door right away. Ah…the Doctor, he's kind of a little nuts sometimes. He forgets where things and people are, or he mixes them up. A lot."

"You must be…Chief Hiccup."

The young man, taller than Allen by at least half a foot, shifted his weight and nodded heartily.

"Yeah, that's me. Chief. Chief Hiccup. Still kind of weird, but I'm getting used to it. Ah…mind if I…oh. It's…a little dirty in there. I thought someone was coming out to clean this place up before you got here. Oh, hey, Whiplash. How you been, buddy?"

"It's fine. I can talk out here, if you'd prefer." Before Allen could step out, Whiplash had already slunk around him, knocking Allen aside to leap at the other Night Fury with giddy abandon. The two promptly began to tangle and wrestle on the grass outside, yowling and growling playfully as they went. Hiccup watched the two for a moment, a wistful smile on his face.

"He hasn't been this happy in a long time. Not since she left."

Allen didn't need to know who 'she' was. He was already well acquainted with whom he was referring to. Who else but Ash?

"How did it happen?"

Hiccup turned toward Allen, perplexed by the question at first before his expression slowly fell.

"We…we were attacked. By a company called Chimera Dynamics. They've been…stealing people. Things. Places. From different periods and even different worlds. They show up randomly sometimes, but most times…there's concentrated drop points where they end up pulled into. Yamatai's one of them."

"What do you mean by that? Different worlds?" He could already feel his stomach turning sour.

Hiccup sucked in a breath between his teeth, running a hand through his hair. "Ah, man…how do I explain this…look. I know that it's hard to believe, but trust me. I already went through that phase, struggling to wrap my head around it, but…you might not be from this world. You might be from some other world, parallel to this one, the one you're currently in. I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous and at first, I didn't believe it either."

Allen stared at Hiccup for a long time, teetering between disbelief and rejection. That…that couldn't be right. What other worlds were there other than this one? Hiccup grit his teeth uncertainly and glanced over at the Night Furies still wrestling playfully with one another.

"I know it seems unbelievable, but it's true. You'll see it soon enough. There are things in this world that don't exist, but they do in other worlds. Like…oh! We have this man and young girl. Uh…Joel, I think is his name. And the girl is…Ellie. Yeah, that's right. They come from a world where it's…zombified? I think that's what they called it. Or Ellie called it that. And there was an outbreak in the year 2013. Out there, it's 2015 right now. The world didn't have an outbreak and turn everyone into…zombies. Mushroom zombies. It didn't collapse, so far as I've seen. Not from that, anyway."

Allen stared at the young man, a little flabbergasted before it hit him. Mushrooms were funguses. And there had been something in Ash's book, something that mentioned zombies and fungi…

"Are you sure it wasn't called…Cordy…ceps?"

"Oh! That's it. Hey, how'd you know about that?"

He frowned heavily, hesitating. He averted his gaze. "It was in Ash's book. She faced it before, apparently."

Hiccup faltered in answering, awkwardly dropping his eyes.

"I know this is hard. You stayed the longest with her out of anyone that's come out of Yamatai and you two probably grew pretty close. I don't think I'd feel any better if I lost Toothless like that. I have, once. It's painful losing people you love." Hiccup looked back toward where Whiplash and Toothless had finally settled in a heap of tangled tails and bodies, panting heavily with gum-lined mouths gaping open. He looked back at Allen, a resolute expression painted on his face.

"But we're going to get her off that island. We have double agents that work for Chimera Dynamics and they're helping us. Trying to get past whatever it is that's preventing us from getting too close to the island. As soon as they disable it all, including whatever machine they're using to pull people out of their worlds and times and dumping them on Yamatai and these other drop points, we're going to bring her back. I promise you, we're not leaving her there on purpose."

Allen felt some confidence bloom in him at Hiccup's words. He wanted to believe Hiccup and he wanted to believe the Doctor. He wanted to believe in that promise, but he unexpectedly felt like he was in Ash's shoes: listening to people talk was well and fine but until he saw them doing something, it was all just smoke and mirrors in the end. Words were nothing but wind. When Allen didn't respond, Hiccup's face slowly but surely fell and he awkwardly lapsed into silence.

"Did you know her well?"

"I knew her for a little while before she was taken, yeah," Hiccup answered quietly. He was watching the sun setting out across the ocean. "She loved flying with Whiplash. And the other Night Furies, when they were still here. She was…quiet. But smart. A little rough around the edges, but she meant well most of the time."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Hiccup's lips. "You can stay here, if you'd like. I know it's probably dusty and a little…lonely being this far away from the village, but—"

"It's fine. Really." Allen offered a faint smile of his own to the other. "Dust can be cleaned up, and…if Whiplash is willing enough to let me ride on his back, we can fly in anytime."

Hiccup looked relieved and he offered another placating smile. "Great. Well, I-I guess it's settled. Uh…we'll have some supplies sent out here in the meantime. Oh, that reminds me… Have you eaten anything yet?"

At the mention of food, Allen's stomach gave a twist and a grumble. He laughed, embarrassed.

"No, I haven't. I suspect I haven't really eaten much since…" His smile fell and his laughter died away. Not since Yamatai. The unspoken word was left hanging in the air between them.

Hiccup fell quiet as well, mulling in the silence before he perked. "We can get you some food to tide you over, over in Meade Hall. Just follow me and Toothless."

Allen stared after the young man, debating on whether he really wanted to go out or not. Toothless disentangled himself from Whiplash, slinking over to Hiccup with an expectant wiggle in his step. Toothless shot Whiplash and then Allen eager looks. Even Whiplash seemed less subdued and trotted over toward Allen, lowing softly. Allen sighed, running a hand over the dragon's snout.

"I suppose if I'm to get any food anytime soon, we should follow, yes?" He said softly to Whiplash. The dragon stared back for a long time, unblinking and nose wriggling. The Night Fury exhaled softly and leaned forward to nudge him gently. He felt a faint smile tug at his lips.

"All right, then…let's go."

 **OoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Final Notes: Ash will return. Allen will also return. In fact, a lot of characters will return, and many more still will make their appearances! Please be on the lookout for installation of the Multi-'Verse crossover fic, Crash, in the future!**

 ** _Dying Light_ drabbles are still available for reading; bits and pieces that didn't make the final cut for _Left Behind_. Interactions and development in between the time lapses that occurred, if only behind the scenes of the main story line.**

 **Finally, thank you to all who stuck with the story, especially jy24 and alexc123. I'm so very glad you enjoyed this crazy little adventure and I hope to continue meeting and exceeding your storytelling expectations!**


End file.
